Stolen
by Amaranth01
Summary: Hermione has chosen to leave the wizarding world behind for the simple mundane world of muggles. Or so she thinks. But when an entity possesses her, she's forced to go back to the wizarding world in a way she never thought possible-M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hi everyone! This is my very first Harry Potter fanfic, so please go easy on me! Anyway I don't anything, including the greatness that is Harry Potter, only Rowling owns that.

Hermione sighed contentedly as the feel of dirt and rock spilled over her fingers and into the pan. She shook it once, twice and then removed a piece of stone, and delicately pushed aside years of silt and debris with a small brush. The work was methodical, calming even, and she moved between carefully marked squares upon the ground burrowing through soil that hadn't been touched by human hands in thousands of years. The work was also thankless however, and a small part of Hermione's mind wondered if this year would be their last. Funding had grown abysmally absent for many projects over these last few years, it was any wonder her team stayed afloat. She sighed and sat back on her haunches for a moment, reveling in the cool breeze as it whooshed past her ears, and the play of sunlight against her back. Trevor and Damon were farther afield, and she could see the tops of their heads as they worked, moving the dirt diligently and searching for any sign of an ancient relic. She wiped away the beads of sweat that slid across her face and she stood.

"Going for a bit of a break," she yelled out and she could see the Trevor nod slightly, he raised his finger in acknowledgement before once again focusing his eyes upon the ground below. Hermione made her way to their makeshift camp and sat with a tired huff in one of the folding chairs beneath a tarp. She looked down at her dirty nails and sighed. She would need a proper bath when she got back into town, though she didn't look forward to the long trip ahead of them. It would easily take them hours to get back to civilization, but it was worth it if she could just be clean and fall into a nice soft bed in the end. She smiled then, and chuckled. Funny how her only concern was a nice hot bath and the bother of a long car ride. A far cry from her wizarding world days. She lay back and stretched luxuriously. She never regretted leaving any of it behind. Not once. It was nice not having to worry about Dark Magic, pure blood politics and the demands of the Ministry. Here, in the muggle world, she was just Hermione Granger, archeologist and historian, a woman who wanted to prove herself through the means of labor and logic, not magic.

She sometimes wondered if Harry and Ginny ever married, if Hogwarts was the same place as it was before the war, and even how Draco was faring now that Lucius was in Azkaban. After she watched her best friend and roommate Padma Patil get blown away during a battle, everything seemed to run together. She barely noticed the days passing, no longer cared about current events and simply spent each day preparing for the next. After the _Great Cleansing_, Harry had rounded up as many wizards as he could find and managed to destroy Voldemort for good, and had lost a limb in the process. It had taken the medi-wizards weeks to reverse the damage done to his body, and luckily they were able to encourage the growth of a new leg. Months later Harry was nearly back up to speed. The world rejoiced and Voldemort was no more. Everything would return to normal.

But normalcy didn't return for Hermione. She'd felt alone, misunderstood and tormented by all that she'd seen. After the Ministry gathered all the death eaters, including Lucius Malfoy and his family, she'd stay long enough to see Lucius sentenced and then she disappeared. She'd found London to be too constricting, and the thought of bumping into Harry or anyone she'd known made her quiver with fear, and she'd made the move to the U.S. She attended a university for a time, unsure of what to study, before settling with archeology. She made provisions for herself before the war, so though she wasn't poor or hungry, she wasn't extremely well-off. She put enough aside to care for needs and used only enough magic to ensure the well-being of her parents, who, though obliviated, were settled happily in New Zealand.

She had thought of going to them, of reinserting herself back into their lives. But…they seemed so much happier, so much freer without her. Hermione had spent the bulk of the war running for her life and hiding in fear before obliviating them. She hadn't wanted them to go through what she had, and she would continue to do anything to keep them from harm, even if that meant staying as far from them as possible. She choked back a flood of tears and hardened her resolve. No, they were much better off without her.

"You okay, 'Mione?," Trevor asked and she looked up, her lips automatically forming a smile.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be? We've only been here for oh…..say three months and have yet to find a single thing of significance."

Trevor laughed a bit and dusted his hand before pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

"Well, I reckon we should be finding something soon. The tomes point to a specific location and this is the only one of its kind in the region. Ya gotta have faith girl."

Hermione looked over at Trevor and smiled once more as the Texan continued to wax poetic about failure and never giving up.

"My granddaddy always said-," he began.

"_You gotta wash a pig before you fry a fish_," both he and Hermione said in unison.

"I know, I know Trev. You've told me that a thousand times. What does that mean anyway?"

Trevor chuckled, "Damned if I know. But it sure lit a fire under our asses."

He continued to laugh and Hermione rolled her eyes, a teasing smirk playing around the edges of her full mouth.

"Wanna pack it in for the day?," he asked, punctuating his question with a hard slap to his knee, "I think I'm 'bout ready to get a bath and a beer."

Hermione nodded and stood, and beckoned to Damon. The blonde haired young man began to make his way to their camp, his face and body just as dirty as Hermione's and Trevor's.

"We're going now?," he intoned and wiped his dirty hands futilely on a handkerchief.

"Yes," Hermione answered and took in his cool, grey eyes and the thin, yet muscular build of his body.

"I'll go pack up," he told them and rushed off.

Besides his grey eyes, and light blonde hair, something about Damon reminded Hermione of Lucius. He had an easy, relaxed gait, a generally nice disposition and good nature, but there was something—hard and calculating beneath the surface, something she could never quite put her finger on. She had never been quite comfortable around him and hadn't wanted him to travel with them all the way to Egypt, citing only his youth and inexperience. She'd argued that Egypt had recently undergone several political upheavals, and though they had been granted admittance, they could not afford any missteps. Several of her colleagues had agreed, but ultimately he had been given clearance.

After they'd packed up the site and were on the road they made their way back to their hotel. It was one of the safer areas for foreign travelers and had been recommended by several top brass officials, many of them ex-military, before the University had signed off on their stay.

Once she was back in her hotel room, Hermione had immediately drawn a bath and relaxed before falling in an exhausted heap onto the bed.

HGHGHGHG

Hermione had been humming a wordless tune beneath her breath when she felt it. She rooted around and pulled it carefully from the earth, gently brushing away the detritus built around it. The feel of cool, sleek metal filled her hands. She narrowed her eyes, taking in its design and shape. It was ancient, that was for sure, it probably predated any groups living in the area. She carefully looked over the smooth, ovoid disk, the incantations carved against its teal body and she ran her thumb over the trace of ridges on its edge. There was something…alien about the artifact, but she dismissed the thought and concentrated on thoroughly cleaning it.  
She gently blew on the artifact, and a chill slid up her body. She fought the impulse to chuck it back into the earth and run far, far away.

_Stop being silly_, she chided herself, _you finally find something worth looking for and you're being a ninny!_

She cleared her head of her ruminations and focused on the task at hand. The harsh sunlight then hit the metal, and it seemed to come to life, pulsing in waves from the center of the disk and raced painfully up Hermione's arm. She tried to scream but found her vocal cords would not work, and her body would not obey any of her commands as she fought to release herself from the artifact's hold.

She felt the breath, the very life of—_something_ push into her, cutting across expanses in her brain and into the core of who she was. It was painful, more painful than any _Crucio_ she'd ever endured. Trevor and Damon were too far away to hear her whimpers of pain, and a small part of Hermione was grateful, and wanted them to stay away. Whatever this thing was, it most definitely wasn't friendly and she'd endure the pain if it meant the lives of her teammates.

"_Granger, ever the martyr_," she could almost hear Draco's voice and could imagine his sneer as she twisted and contorted against the ground in agony, "_Always thinking of others. Do others think of you, I wonder_?"

The thing, inside her filled her, and settled itself deep within the recesses of her mind, her soul and her body.

The pain began to recede and the thing that was not-quite-Hermione stood, its violet eyes taking in the scene before her. The small part of the thing, the part that was _really_ Hermione, could see the thing calculating, ruthlessly picking through her memories, her experiences as scene after scene played before her eyes. It rushed over her feelings, her emotions, and the sensation of long lost recollections and tossed them aside carelessly before settling onto her last memory of Voldemort and Harry squaring off on the battlefield.

She could feel its mind shift, and something akin to smug satisfaction filled it as it reversed the scene over and over. "_Yessss_," it whispered softly against her consciousness, its voice sweet and cloying like a lover as it washed over her, its tendrils of thought pushing against her own.

"_This will do_."

The thing that was Hermione screamed in protest, before being hurtled backwards into the cold, hard recesses of the_ thing's_ mind.


	2. Chapter 2

It watched with amusement as the two humans ran behind the vehicle. An exercise in futility it thought as it tore out of the campsite, dirt flying from beneath the wheels as it raced onto the road. Hermione knew exactly where it was headed.

_No, no you don't have to…._she pleaded.

"Shut up. Of course I do. How else will get what I want?"

Hermione sat back. She was trapped in what looked like her old living room, but she could see the scene clearly around her through a television in the middle of the room. It was as if the events that were unfolding were no more mundane than the evening news, and this was a normal evening at home. Only she wasn't _really_ in her living room and somehow an entity had taken residence inside her mind and body. No, not normal evening by any means.

When the thing had gotten to her hotel and convinced a staff person to follow her back to her room, complaining the whole time about the "god-awful heat," in the room as well as "the ants in the shower," she wanted to cover her eyes. She didn't want to see what would happen next. She'd tried fruitlessly to unplug the telly as it blared onto the walls, casting slithering shadows in the room. It kept playing. She kicked it a few times and cracked the screen, only to stare in horror as the screen repaired itself.

She gasped and jumped back as her face filled the screen. "You're going to love this. Keep watching."

Hermione ran to the nearest door but screamed when inky, nasty darkness began to run across the living room floor.

She saw her face onscreen as it wrinkled in disapproval. "No, no. No escape for you, my love."

Hermione shut the door and ran back to the safety of the sofa, only to watch in terror as she leaned into the unknown man, kissed him, and pulled his essence, his very soul, out of his body and into her own.

The man's body was a dessicated husk as it lay against the tiled floor. Not-quite-Hermione then stood and sauntered smoothly across the floor, and pulled out bags of luggage. It tore through clothes, shoes and books before finding what it was looking for. Hermione's wand. It could feel Hermione's soul-shredding screams and it struggled to hold the wand a moment before righting itself and apparating.

Diagon Alley hadn't changed. It looked just as Hermione remembered and she—it—made its way through the shops before setting itself before an upscale clothing store. It peered in, taking in the rows of designer dresses, shoes, and accessories before smiling coldly. _This will do_.

It browsed the aisles before selecting several racy dresses, high heel shoes and lacy tops. She saleswoman sneered as she took in Hermione's bedraggled appearance. _Fucking mudbloods_, she thought haughtily, then remembered that the war had taken a toll on business, and any sales she could get were welcome.

She quickly rang up Hermione's purchases. "That will be 350 galleons please."

"I don't have any galleons."

"Well, then I can't possibly let you have these items. You can't get them for free."

Not-quite-Hermione smiled icily. Something in its face made the woman step back and she stumbled.

"I will get what I want, _when_ I want. And you, you silly little bird, won't stop me."

Hermione turned away and curled in on herself in a dark corner, her hands over her ears. She tried in vain to think happy thoughts, to think of her days in Hogswarts, her parents, anything to block the sound of the harsh, guttural screams coming from the television.

A few moments later Not-quite-Hermione walked out of the shop, her arms laden with bags of clothes and shoes. She'd made use of the flat that was directly above the shop. Luckily for the occupants, no one was home, and she availed herself of the dirt and the splashes of blood from her latest meal in the shower. She used magic to arrange her hair, frowning slightly at the poofy mess and wrinkling her nose at its color. She frowned again at her reflection in the mirror and started slightly when it sneered back at her.

"_You won't get away with this you know_," Hermione said and not-quite-Hermione smiled sweetly back at her, its countenance having been greatly enhanced by the shop person's delicious tasting essence.

"I'm quite sure I _am_ getting away with it, darling," it responded smugly and Hermione, the _real _Hermione frowned.

"_Harry won't let you_-," Hermione began and it chuckled.

"Oh, but you see, everyone thinks _you're_ doing all these horrible, dreadful things. What will poor Harry say when he sees your magical signature all over that poor woman's shop? What will the muggle authorities say when they discover the body in your hotel room?"

"_Harry will know_-,"

"You poor, poor thing," it began, its tone not unlike what one would use with a very young child, "Don't you see, he's all about justice, about righteousness. This is all a grey area for him. He doesn't _do_ grey areas I think. I've seen enough memories of him to know that. He will destroy you; if only for the good of the community. But not before I've moved to another body."

"Now run along darling. I've got things to do, people to kill and all that. Off with you." It raised its fist and brought it up hard against the mirror, fracturing it into pieces. The pieces held a moment, each a mosaic of Hermione screaming silently before crashing to the ground.

"Oh, dear," it muttered, "I do believe I'm bleeding."

It opened its hand and licked at the blood with large, lazy strokes of tongue, its eyes filling with darkness and its body shivering with pleasure.


	3. Chapter 3

The shop was swarming with investigators from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Harry traipsed into the crime scene, a coffee in hand. Several of his colleagues had gotten to the shop well before Harry had tumbled out of bed, and he ran a hand through his ruffled, uncombed hair and sighed. He thought after the war life would be a little less interesting, but instead, all manner of magical mischief still happens, day after day, the post-war era never stemming the tide of magical murder and mayhem. Par for the course really, Harry thought, people never seemed to change.

"What do we have here?," he asked stepping over to Connelly, the auror's eyes were bloodshot, an indication that he'd been on scene for a few hours at least.

"Looks like the shopkeeper is over here," he began and they walked over to the body. The shopkeeper had been lovely in life, but in death, her body was mangled, twisted and ashen. Her body seemed dry and desiccated, as if something—something vital-had been taken out. Harry then noticed that her chest had been ripped open and splashes of blood lined the walls and floor.

"Her name was Isadora Borgin."

Harry's eyes widened, "She related to the Dark Wizard by any chance?"

"She was Mr. Borgin's niece it seems," a cold shiver ran up Connelly's spine and he shook his head, "Quite an unsavory character he was, that Borgin."

Harry nodded and stepped closer to the body. "Have you done any testing for magical signatures, traces of anything unusual?"

"I thought I'd leave that you. There is some rather interesting material over here by the counter though."

Harry made his way to the counter. "See there," Connelly pointed out, "We haven't been able to figure out what that is."

Harry crouched down and looked to the place where Connelly was pointing, noting there were traces of some black substance and some of it clung to the floor and spaces along the counter. Harry carefully examined it with his wand, jumping back when the flecks of black moved and convulsed.

"Whoa." Harry prodded it a bit and then stood.

"Take some samples," he ordered and Connelly nodded. "Have you contacted Ron?"

Connelly shook his head, "Weasley's still on his honeymoon with Lavender Brown. Should I try to owl him?"

"No. Let him enjoy his time. We'll take care of it."

Harry walked back over to the body and crouched, running his wand back and forth over the young's woman's chest. His heart dropped and his stomach roiled.

_No_, he thought, _no….it couldn't be_.

He ran the tests again, hoping the answer would be different. But the trace was unmistakable.

It was all there, right in front of him. The signature was none other than that of Hermione Granger.

Harry was dumbfounded. How could…how did…

His mind was reeling. There was no way Hermione was capable of doing something like this. It was impossible. He wouldn't believe it…

"Found something?," Connelly asked and Harry stammered, "Oh, um nothing. Looks like the signature's untraceable."

Harry quickly obscured Hermione's signature and stood.

"Funny that," Connelly remarked, "We could try getting another team in here to do a thorough-,"

Before Harry could respond, a flurry of commotion began at the door and tumbled into the shop.

"Out of the way!" a voice bellowed and Harry adjusted his glasses and looked over as Draco Malfoy rushed into the shop, leading a team of men in black robes.

"_Malfoy_," Harry spit.

"Potter," Draco responded and smirked.

"What are _you_ doing here? This is an official investigation."

"Well, seeing as I am the head of the new Department of Occult and Mystical Occurrences, we've decided to take over from here. Your services are no longer needed."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy was the same cocky little git he'd always been and Harry felt himself bristle.

"I don't care what kind of credentials you've paid for Malfoy. You're not going to order me about like I'm your underling."

Draco smiled coldly and came to stand toe-to-toe with Harry. "But that's exactly what you are. Our department has higher rank than yours, therefore that makes me your _superior_, I should think."

Harry felt his teeth clench and tried desperately to push aside the impulse to hex the blond, insufferable prat.

"I. don't. care. You're not going to come in here and take over this investigation."

"I have official papers from the Ministry saying I will."

Harry was itching to use his wand but stepped back and shook his head. "Like I said I don't care what you say. You're not going to take this over. I'll go to Tonks if I have to."

Draco's nostrils flared and he pushed Harry aside and stepped close to the body. Harry raced over and tried to pull him away but it was too late. Draco had seen the signature.

They gave each other a look and Draco broke the tense silence. "Right. Let's get everyone out of here."

Draco's team quickly obliviated everyone save Harry and Draco pulled Harry angrily aside, speaking in terse low tones.

"What the hell Potter! Why does that body have Hermione's traces all over it?"

"I don't know. Suppose you tell me. You're so bloody smart."

A muscle flexed in Draco's jaw and he tried to stymie the impulse to deck the intolerable bint in the face.

"I'm trying to help you here. I know Hermione, and she wouldn't do this."

Harry's gaze softened and he nodded. "I know. But that doesn't explain why her traces are everywhere."

"The shopkeeper was a niece of a former Dark Wizard. Perhaps this is an attempt to frame her, stir up old sentiments-,"

"What would you know about old sentiments, Malfoy?" Harry questioned and Draco sneered.

"Still the same old prejudiced little twit. I'm not my father Potter. Now either we work together, or Granger will be in a world of trouble."

Harry stayed silent a moment, mulling over his words. He sighed, "You're right Malfoy. Though I don't know how anyone could hope to implicate her in a crime. She left shortly after-,"

Draco lowered his eyes and Harry felt a twinge of guilt, "—Everything happened," he finished and Draco nodded.

"So do you know where she could be, did she leave word of where she went?"

Harry shook his head. "She left a note saying she was fine, and not to look for her. We have no idea where she could have gone."

"We have to assume then that she's here somewhere now. There's no way someone could have created a forgery like that without-,"

Harry gulped and tried not to think the worst. "We don't know that."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You've work on your team for how many years now? And how often have you seen a forgery where the other party wasn't-,"

"We can't think that. We have to assume she's still alive somewhere."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Were there any witnesses?"

"Connelly told me the crime happened soon after the shop opened. So it had to have been early morning. It's not really busy then. No one would have noticed anything out of the ordinary."

Draco thought a moment and then realization washed over him. "There _is_ a witness. Old man O'Connor. He had to have seen something. He sits in front of all the shops, asking for spare galleons and knuts."

Harry shook his head, "He's insane Malfoy. How would we know to trust anything he says?"

Draco wanted to shake Potter. "It's worth a shot. Besides, we could perform a light and less invasive sort of Legilimency to see if he has truly seen something."

Harry acquiesced and followed Malfoy out into the street.

It turned out, O'Connor _had_ seen something. But both Harry and Draco couldn't fathom what the old, crazy man had seen.

"Is this true?"

Draco nodded, "We have to assume it is. The brain can't lie or obscure. It was Hermione that came in here."

Harry felt himself shaking. "It couldn't be. It couldn't."

"I can't believe it either Potter. But there has to be another explanation-,"

A young man in a black robe walked up to Draco and stood hesitantly,

"Yes, James, what is it? We've haven't got all day."

"Sir, there's—been another murder."

Draco gave the man a look and the young man swallowed.

"The body looked just like that one."

"Thanks James," Draco said and like that the young lieutenant had been dismissed.

"Fuck," Harry said.

"I know."

"What do we do now?"

Draco took in a deep breath and gave Harry a hard stare. "We'll have to find her, that's what."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks everyone for the reviews! Anyway, I will be updating with more soon.

* * *

Not-quite-Hermione slid into the supple leather and smirked at her reflection in the mirror. It had been so easy convincing that stupid little man to give her all the money in his wallet, too bad she'd been hungry. He was cute, and could have been a nice lay. Oh well. Spilt milk and all that. She shrugged and continued perusing her reflection in the mirror, admiring how the tight leather accentuated her curves and how the light bounced of her newly tamed curls. It could still hear Hermione screaming with disgust and rage from deep within her however, and it rolled its eyes.

"Oh, don't worry love, I won't do anything to tarnish your prudish reputation," It snarled and sighed, throwing itself onto the bed. It had found a hotel room in a seedier part of the district, far from the prying eyes of the Ministry, though it had found no mention of the murders in any of the papers, including the Daily Prophet. But it wasn't stupid. It hadn't lived for as long as it did and not understand human nature. They were looking for her. It was sure of it. It was in hiding only because it didn't want to be found right now. After all, this body was fucking _useful_.

Not-quite-Hermione chuckled low and sexily. Hermione was bellowing at an increased level now, and it was starting to really irritate Not-quite-Hermione.

"Will you SHUT UP! I can't think with you screaming in my head like that!"

"_Good_!," Hermione responded and began a rousing rendition of the Manchester United anthem.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" It yelled as it began beating its head with its fists.

It stood and growled low and feral, its eyes becoming inky and dark.

"If you don't shut up _human_, I may find myself—feeling a little famished. You wouldn't want some poor defenseless little soul getting _eaten_, now would you?"

Hermione stopped abruptly and after a moment Not-quite-Hermione smiled.

"That's better."

It walked over to the mirror and adjusted its cleavage and grinned. It stopped a moment and then gave the mirror a teasing smile.

Hermione, the _real_ Hermione suddenly appeared before her, wearing the same outfit she been wearing before she'd left Egypt.

"_Someone will stop you. I know what you're planning."_

"Oh do you now? Do tell."

Hermione chose not to answer and instead crossed her arms and stared back angrily.

"_It won't work."_

Not-quite-Hermione batted her eyes coquettishly and giggled.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Hermione pulled her mouth into a thin angry line.

"_You know what I mean. Azkaban!"_

Not-quite-Hermione's face then turned cold and cruel. Hermione flinched from its expression and seemed to physically step back.

When it spoke it was like the sound of deep, dank, darkness, the sound of thousands of creatures speaking at once.

"You know not of what you speak, _human_. I will. Not. Be. Stopped," it said angrily and continued, "and I shall not fail."

Hermione stood silently for a long moment and then she squared her shoulders and raised her head slightly.

"I'm not afraid of you, whatever you are."

When it laughed, it was like a chorus of voices tumbling over each other, and the room was awash with the sound of laughter.

" What am I if not fear, if not death? What could I be, but the thing that I am? And I am ancient. Don't worry, whatever I have planned will be probably just as horrible as you think."

When it chuckled it sounded like Hermione again.

"Now we must be on our way. You know things to do-,"

"_People to kill and all that. Yes, I know."_

"No need to be testy. It's not like I'm going to eat you. Well, at least not now. I'd have to find another body first," Not-quite-Hermione paused, "Then again, I've grown rather fond of you. Perhaps I'd keep you around, make you watch."

It felt Hermione shiver with repulsion and disgust, and there was a deliciously small tingle of fear mixed up in her emotions as well. It chuckled.

"Come on dear, time's a wastin'!"

* * *

Not-quite-Hermione stalked down the nearly deserted street, its high heeled boots clattering against the cobble stones and reverberating across the expanse of silent air. It walked until it saw the lights of a sleazy club, the sign was lifelike and depicted a woman in a period costume pulling up her skirt and gasping with what looked to be insincere embarrassment.

_Humans_, it thought, _as if there was anything wrong with the desires of the flesh_.

Shaking its head, it made its way to the entrance. The ticket taker looked up from a glossy pictorial, the girls on each page writhing with pleasure and mouthing foul epithets as they engaged in everything from fondling to self-pleasure. It rolled its eyes and began to stride by the pimply faced young man.

"Hey, you've got to pay to get in. You just can't-," he raced out of his booth and it turned, flashing its true face and the boy whimpered.

"Go back to reading your little book," it said and continued walking in, the smell of human desire, sweat and magic-essence wafting out and hitting its nose.

The young man, kow-towing, did nothing but back up. He trotted quickly back to his booth and used a spell to lock the door behind him.

_Coward_, it thought and pushed open the doors. The smell of humanity at its most depraved assaulted its senses and it reveled in the feeling.

Beautiful women danced atop tables, on poles, slid across stages and presented a bounty of heat, lust, and youthful bodies.

It smiled widely. _My kind of place_, it thought and reached out to Hermione who shrank back and sulked in the corner of her mind.

It chuckled and began to move to the rhythm. Yes, it thought, it could enjoy lying low for a few days.

Then it felt a sweaty palm along the expanse of its arm. It turned and saw a bespectacled, overweight wizard woozily pulling it to him. He smelled of excess drink, the odor sour and rank on his tongue and breath. He also smelled of heavy sweat, as if he hadn't showered in days.

"Lemme take you home sweet girl," he slurred and it narrowed its eyes angrily.

"If you value your life, you will remove your hands from my person, _peasant_!," it growled.

"Aw….don't be like that sweetheart…I'll—I'll have you k-know, I'm a member of the Ministry….I can do wonders for your career."

"It's any wonder it hasn't done wonders for your hygiene. Now, get. Off!," it warned.

"I want you," the man pressed forward and groped Not-quite-Hermione's bosom.

Not-quite-Hermione's violet eyes went a shade darker and were ringed in red, before slightly bleeding to black.

The man blinked and stuttered.

"Go away you oaf," it commanded and pushed hard. The heavy set man flew across the room and into a bank of tables, scattering a crowd of dancing women and enamored men.

"_You didn't have to do that,"_ Hermione yelled and it shrugged.

"He deserved it. Besides, he's quite alright," it said and watched in amusement and the drunkard tried several times to get up before finally falling over a table and passing out.

Not-quite-Hermione turned its attention to the buxom brunette swaying on the stage. Her eyes were a lovely shade of green and she played coyly with her hair before winking saucily in Not-quite-Hermione's direction.

It shot the dancing girl a lop-sided grin and pulled itself closer to the stage. It could hear Hermione throwing an all out fit in her mind and it grinned even wider.

"_Don't kill her. Please_," she begged.

"Since you said _please_, maybe I won't. You're so polite darling," it teased quietly and chuckled.

"What's that?," the dancer said as she gracefully slid down the pole.

"Oh nothing love, I just like the way you move."

The girl giggled and Hermione turned away from the television, all the while dreading the fate of the young girl.

HGHGHGHGHGHGHGH

Draco and Harry had finally arrived at the second crime scene. They had spent most of the day searching for clues and cataloguing the murder of Isadora Borgin. Night had fallen and most of Draco's team had already gone over most of the second crime scene and were pulling together the last of the evidence and examining the body.

Draco stepped into the throng of young investigators moved them aside, taking in the look of the newest victim. The victim had been young, male, and obviously of _very_ noble birth. _Fuck_, Draco thought, _this was not good._

"What have we got here?," he asked to no one in particular and a bevy of voices piped up at once.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "One at a time, please."

James stepped beside him and remarked, "The victim was Aksel Jorgensen, he was here visiting family, and he is originally from Denmark."

"Has the family been notified?" Malfoy asked calculating.

"No, I-,"

"Good, we cannot afford for this to get out. At least not yet."

"Though there was something interesting we did notice on his body."

"Show me."

James carefully used an instrument to pull up the sleeve of one arm. There on his skin lay a mark.

"What is that?" Harry asked as he stepped closer to the body.

Draco looked up and shook his head, "I'm not sure."

"It's an Ieb,"

Draco looked up at James who was now nervously biting at his lips.

"What in Merlin's name is that?"

"Um—I studied muggle ancient history for a while, and that's what the Egyptians used to symbolize—um—life. They believed a person's essence resided in the heart. I guess that would explain why his chest's been ripped open."

"Interesting," Draco muttered.

"Why would a muggle mark be on a noble wizard's arm?" Harry pondered aloud.

"I don't know."

Draco stood and pulled Harry off to the side.

"I think we need to find Hermione. And quickly."

"I'll have a team search High Street-,"

Draco shook his head. "No, no. If you wanted to hide, where would you go? You wouldn't want it be in a conspicuous place like the High Street area. It's too upscale. The rich are bored, all they do is gossip. Believe me, I know. That's not good if you want to hide."

Harry thought for a moment. "Where _would_ one go?," then Harry lit up.

"I think I know. The Cryden Bourough. It's a right seedy place, but you can get almost everything on the dark magical market there. It's been known to house more than a few notorious criminals and dark lords. If whomever is committing these crimes has Hermione, that'd be the place to go. No one would dare ask questions."

"Ah, you're good for something Potter," Draco smirked cockily and Harry frowned and walked away, feeling his hand inching towards his wand.

"Let's go Malfoy."


	5. Chapter 5

DMDMDMDMDMDM

Harry and Draco spread teams across certain bouroughs just in case, but went to Cryden alone. They had their wands at the ready as they crossed into the district, the smell of something rank hanging in the air and making them gag.

"How anyone would _want_ to go here is beyond me," Draco muttered and Harry silently agreed as he held his nose and walked on.

They walked quickly past abandoned shops, beggars and a bevy of women selling their bodies for the evening. A few whistled appreciatively as they walked by.

They continued trodding past shops and tenements until Harry pulled on Draco's arm.

"Let's try this place."

Draco took in the gaudy décor, and the woman raising her skirt in a repetitive loop. "Do you really think Hermione could be in a place like this?"

Harry had heard of women being trafficked in places such as these and magically held captive. He swallowed convulsively. "I hope not. But it's worth a try right? What could it hurt?

Draco took in a deep breath. He and Harry then went into the entrance. They were met by a young man, whose face boasted numerous pimples. The man became visibly pale when he saw Harry's auror insignia and Draco's official Ministry symbol.

Harry held up a moving photograph of Hermione and Harry's last trip to the beach.

"Have you seen her?" Harry prompted without preamble.

The young man twitched, and for a moment looked deathly afraid. He didn't answer at first and then Draco pushed Harry aside and glowered at the young man.

"Do you know who I am?," the young man yelped and his eyes went wide.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Good. If you know who I am, then you are well aware of what I am capable of doing. Tell him what he wants to know."

The young man swallowed and pointed to the doors leading to the inside.

"She came in about twenty minutes ago. If she asks I didn't say anything!," he was shaken with fear as he began to babble incoherently.

"She's here," Harry stated and Draco nodded.

"Ready?"

Harry nodded and they pushed in the doors. They looked around the dimly lit area and pushed past half-naked women and men. They glanced over and were shocked to see Hermione dancing on stage.

* * *

The music thrummed sweetly through the air and Not-quite-Hermione was enjoying itself. It had had a wonderful drink; something called a "firewhiskey," and was feeling light, heady and filled with power. It had been content to drink and watch the girl move pitifully on the stage before getting up, pushing her off and showing her how it was done.

It moved its body hypnotically to the music, rolling its muscles and twisting gracefully as the tempo changed and altered.

It had attracted a small crowd of anxious men and it dipped, swayed and then pushed out its tongue, slowly licking its finger before trailing it down its chest and stomach. The song was slow and sensual and it continued to move as the lyrics blared across the crowded room:

_She's cut like a diamond _

_From a mine deep as time_

_The words she has spoken_

_Have energised my mind _

Harry and Draco forced their way into the crowd of men. Some of the men resisted and pushed back as the crowd grew.

"That can't be Hermione," Harry whispered and Draco wanted to agree, but was too shocked to answer as he watched Hermione, clad in tight leather, undulating shamelessly to the music, a look of euphoria washed across her face.

Draco and Harry bulldozed their way to the front of the stage and for a moment they went unnoticed, then Hermione looked down and smiled widely.

"Hullo boys," she crooned, "Come here often?" she asked cheekily and both Draco and Harry reached to pull her off the stage.

"Hey, I was having a perfectly good time over there."

They shoved her out of the club, into the street and beneath a lamp post.

"Hey!" she protested.

Harry sniffed, "You've been drinking?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and poked Harry in his chest, "Why, yes I have."

Draco stepped in between her and Harry. "Hermione, you've got to come with us. You're in trouble."

"No," she moaned then pouted prettily, "I want to stay."

"Please 'Mione," Harry pled, resorting to her childhood nickname.

Hermione's nostrils flared a moment and her expression hardened.

"I said no."

"We don't want to have to take you by force Hermione. But we will if we have to."

Hermione laughed heartily. She laughed so hard that tears formed in her eyes and she wiped them hastily away.

"Ooooh," she teased, "I'm so scared. The big bad boy-who-lived is going to take me away. And the cocky little Malfoy prat is going to help him."

Draco clenched his teeth. "Hermione. Let's go." He pulled at her arm and it snatched it away and roared, "No!"

Draco stepped back a fraction and aimed his wand at her, Harry did the same.

"This isn't Hermione," Draco remarked.

"No, it isn't."

Draco looked closer. He then noticed her eyes were no longer their characteristic brown but were a stunning shade of violet.

"Who are you?," Harry ventured as they backed up Not-quite-Hermione into the alleyway.

It laughed and Harry's breath hitched. Her voice sounded deep and distorted.

"Do you really want to know?," she queried and a hard, cruel expression crossed her face.

By now the real Hermione was bellowing, yelling and screeching at the top of her lungs. She beat at the walls of the "living room," and Not-quite-Hermione flinched.

"Stop that!" It roared.

Harry and Draco looked at it in confusion. It seemed to be carrying on a conversation with itself.

"_You won't hurt them!"_

"Oh, just one little bite, pretty please!"

"_If you harm one little hair on their heads I swear I'll-,"_

"You'll do what?"

There was no answer and Not-quite-Hermione grinned. "Just as I thought. Nothing."

"What did you do with Hermione?" Draco asked and it shrugged.

"Oh she's here," she tapped the side of her head. "Quite annoying she is too. How you all put up with her all those years is a wonder to me."

"Let her go," Harry warned and it grimaced.

"No."

"I don't know what you are, but you will not hold Ms. Granger captive. Let her go," Draco ordered.

"On whose authority?," it shouted, "Yours Mr. Malfoy? I suppose I should release her to the likes of you. The boy who tormented her in school and called her—what was that—_mudblood_?"

A muscle flexed in Draco's jaw. "I was a child then. I didn't know any better."

"Hermione!," Harry called, "If you're in there, please fight!"

"_I'm trying Harry!,"_ she shouted as she ran around her prison looking for an escape.

Not-quite-Hermione was getting angry. She could feel Hermione shifting through her mind and pushing at the bonds that held her.

It hissed and its face transformed. Gone was the sweet, gentle planes of Hermione's face, and instead inky black eyes stared out at Draco and Harry, ringed by black veins and a ridged forehead. Upper and lower fangs slowly emerged and her jaw unhinged like a snake's, revealing rows of pointed, sharp teeth.

"Fuck! That is so _not_ Hermione!" Draco yelled.

"_Stupefy_!," Harry cried and the spell hit Hermione in the chest. For a moment she didn't move, then she reared back and pushed the magic uselessly into the air. For a moment the air seemed to shiver and move and then smoothed out into nothingness.

"Do something Malfoy!"

"Like what?!"

Hermione began to stalk predatorily towards them and Draco yelled, "_Affligo_!"

For a moment it looked as if it worked and Hermione reared back—only to fling the spell back at Draco whose nose bled as he suffered a blow to the face.

"Ow!" he bellowed.

"Affligo? Really Malfoy? Are you trying to hurt her?"

"Right. Look who's bleeding here."

"Well don't just stand there!"

"You've got any bright ideas Potter?"

Harry bit his lip and thought quickly. Hermione was advancing slowly on them both. Harry and Draco began widening the distance between her and themselves.

"_Arricneo!,"_ Harry shouted and Hermione paused. Something was rippling beneath her skin and he could see Hermione, the real Hermione as she tried desperately to push the being inside her out.

Her face distorted and pulled like Taffy. The thing shrieked like a wounded animal and then roared. Harry was prepared to throw another spell as was Draco. But the face was pulled back in and righted itself.

It screamed in fury and turned to run.

"Oh no, she's getting away!" Harry bellowed.

Draco and Harry watched in horror as Hermione's limbs distended until she was crouched on all fours. She began sprinting away into the cool, dark night.

"No, no!," Harry lamented.

Draco used his wand to create a special pocket in the air. He pulled out a broom.

"You keep a broom?"

"Yes, Potter, I do."

Harry shot him a quizzical look and Draco hopped aboard the broom.

"I'll find her. Find James and get the reinforcements."

Harry nodded and Draco sped off hot on Hermione's trail.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Warning: This is a pretty angsty chapter with some mention of rape.

HGHGHGHGHG

Draco rushed through the night air, his robes billowing after him as he pursued the thing that was—and wasn't Hermione.

She ran like a wolf, crouched low to the ground and picked up speed as she crossed over to a deserted field. She suddenly straightened, her cant slowing to a walk and Draco reduced his speed in turn, before landing before her.

"I don't want to hurt you Hermione," he began. Hermione's eyes flashed brown and an expression of sadness crossed her face. Tears welled up in her eyes and began running down her cheeks. In that moment, Draco knew he was speaking to her, the _real_ Hermione.

"I can't stop it Draco. Get away!" she warned, "It's too strong. I can't-,"

"You must! _Please!_ Fight it! You can do it!"

"I can't!"

"You can," Draco remarked confidently, "Let me help you," he reached for her and she pulled back, her eyes fading back to violet.

"NO!," it screamed.

Draco stiffened and pulled out his wand.

"Let. Her. Go," he commanded through clenched teeth.

Hermione's face became—twisted and cruel. A soft, low sound was emanating from its chest and Draco's brow wrinkled in confusion before he realized that is was laughter.

"You never cared about her Draco," it said and Draco blinked in surprise.

"That's not true."

"Of course it is. You watched—you watched as she was tortured day after day and you did nothing to stop it."

"I couldn't—I-,"

"You could have. But you didn't. You let your father have his way with her-,"

"And I live with that guilt everyday! You must believe me Hermione, I never wanted that for you! That's why I helped you escape!"

It threw back its head and chortled before seemingly composing itself.

"Don't lie to yourself Draco. You never liked her! All she was to you was a stupid mudblood! Do you want to know what your father did to her that day-,"

"Shut up!" he cried.

"After beating her until she was a soiled bloody, sobbing mess he decided it be _fun_ to-,"

"NO, NO, NO!'

"He decided it would be fun to have him, Greyback and the others take turns raping the poor girl until she bled!"

Draco's face was wet with tears but he didn't lower his wand.

"Oh, but he thought it wasn't enough to beat her, rape her and humiliate her. Oh no. He was angry that she," the thing used its hands to make air quotes, "Made him" want to rape a stupid mudblood. So he decided to punish her."

Draco was nearly sobbing with anger and he shook, "I would have killed my father with my bare hands if I could!"

"He decided," it continued, "To take a wand, dipped in dark magic and bespelled it so that it heated up, and burned-,"

Draco flinched and wiped the tears from his eyes, "Let her go you monster!" he yelled.

"And he took the wand," it said as if Draco hadn't spoken, "And put it inside her-,"

Draco struck the thing with a hex and it smiled.

"The wizards tried to repair her. They did. He messed her up so very badly that she can't conceive now. Even the muggle doctors, with all their technology couldn't fix her. So who's the monster now?"

Draco gave a scream of rage and it gave him a fake look of pity. "Poor Draco. You want to believe that you cared for the little stupid mudblood who was nothing more than your father's whore-,"

"I loved her!," Draco bellowed, "I had to watch the woman I love die a little everyday and I was powerless to stop it, but by Merlin I swear I won't let her down again. Now, LET HER GO!"

His admission of love shocked still-Hermione, and in the corner of her mind, trapped in the small, dark living room, a sliver of hope opened in her heart. It was tiny, nothing more than a small dot of light within her but it was there.

Not-quite-Hermione stopped a moment. It could feel something, something small and nearly infinitesimal change within still-Hermione and it sputtered angrily.

Hermione watched as the walls of the living room changed constricted and twisted. The walls pulled like strings of something sticky and wet with faces were pressed into them, twisted limbs following, all of them screaming in rage and reaching towards her.

Hermione screamed. A bloody hand reached out and grasped her leg and sought to pull her into the vast expanse of darkness outside the confines of the living room.

Hermione fought back. His admission of love began to grow into a solid kernel of strength that energized her, and Not-quite-Hermione pulled back.

Hermione, the real one, slowly came to the surface and Draco nearly cried out in relief.

"Help me."

Not-quite-Hermione took control once more. Draco, emboldened now, raised his wand and pointed it at its chest.

His face became hard and cruel and his mouth twisted up in anger as the thing before him began to push Hermione down into its depths.

He curled his fingers tightly over his wand. "_PELLO STADIUM DE INFERUS!"_

The banishing spell slammed into Not-quite-Hermione with the speed of a train. It howled in pain and its skin burned, cracked and became mottled in places.

It then threw off the spell and let out a high pitch keen. Draco began to advance on it. Not-quite-Hermione stepped back. Its sides and backside rippled and it let out a shout. Wings burst out from under Hermione's shoulder blades and the thing quickly took to the air, so quickly that by the time Draco jumped on his broom and tried to follow, she was nothing but a retreating dot in the sky.

"You can run but you cannot hide demon! I will come for you Hermione, I will come for you!," he yelled into the distance.

Draco made his way back to the Cryden area, Harry was waiting for him with a team of individuals. Harry looked at him with hope and Draco shook his head.

"You didn't find her?"

"No, I did. But she got away."

"She got away? How-,"

"She won't get away for long. We'll find her," he said fervently, pushing past Harry and walking off into the darkness.

HGHGHGHGHG

Not-quite-Hermione dragged itself bruised and bleeding across the hotel room. It stumbled, staggered, and fell a few times before righting itself. It could feel Hermione's self-righteous indignation and smug satisfaction as it fell once more, tried desperately to get up and slipped.

"Don't enjoy this too much bitch," it warned, "I'll need to feed soon if I hope to repair myself."

Though Hermione didn't answer, it could feel her dim disquiet grow.

"Not so smug now, are we?" It replied and pulled itself over to the bed.

It could hear Hermione screaming, the words indistinct and obscured.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill anyone yet. Right now, I need—I need to rest. I've lost too much blood."

It looked down at the black blood that began to stain the bedsheets and it sighed.

"Stupid fucking wizards," it cursed.

It finally managed to pull itself properly onto the bed and it tumbled down with relief, closed its eyes for a long moment and slept.

Hermione watched as flashes of its subconscious thought flashed onto the television screen. She saw the pyramids through its eyes and they looked nothing like they do now. Instead they were gleaming towers of whitewashed stone, perfectly aligned with constellations that haven't existed in thousands of years. She saw the faces of ancient pharaohs, and the temples of devoted scribesmen and—some women-as they worshipped at the demon's feet.

This was the world that the demon—and Hermione had surmised that's what it was—had known. She knew she should be amazed at the images she was seeing, at hearing the words of long dead languages, and witnessing how utterly wrong long held theories of ancient Egyptian history have been. But she couldn't bring herself to care. She was afraid, and held onto a small beacon of hope that Draco and Harry would find her and help her.

She continued watching the images on the screen, thinking how ironic it was that everyone, including monsters—dreamed.

* * *

**A/N**: I almost forgot to mention that the lyrics for the song Hermione danced to was Ian Brown's "Solarized." Forgive my grasp of latin as well.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Thanks for reading everyone! This story is a bit AU as I've decided that Tonks is alive and there are a few changes. I am definitely open to criticism. Anyway, enjoy!

DMDMDMDMDM

Draco and Harry strode into the Ministry of Magic, followed a team of investigators. As they made their way up to the upper offices, they came to a checkpoint that Harry had never seen before and a guard dressed in burgundy robes stood.

"Mr. Malfoy, pleasure to see you again," he remarked. Draco nodded and the guard looked askance at Harry's presence.

"He doesn't have clearance sir, I won't be able to let him in."

"Where's Shacklebolt? I informed him yesterday of the change."

The guard conjured a scroll and looked at it moment before frowning.

"I don't believe we've received that sir."

"I don't have time for this," Draco growled and began escorting Harry and his team into the bank of lift doors.

"Sir—we can't!"

"Shove it!," Draco yelled back, "If Shacklebolt has a problem he'll deal with me!"

Draco, Harry and the team entered the lift and were quickly taken to their destination. When they arrived, Harry stepped off the lift and gasped.

The area was decorated in white, glowing, luminescent white. The robes the team and Draco wore contrasted greatly against the fluorescent lighting. They walked until they stood in front of a woman dressed in white robes. She smiled graciously and Harry thought she was real until she flickered then became solid once more.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she quoted and her voice sounded strange, almost tinny, "Please insert identification requirement."

Draco slid his hand along a screen within the wall and the woman nodded.

"Access granted. Enjoy your day Mr. Malfoy."

Harry stared at the now unmoving woman a moment before slipping in stride beside Draco.

"What was that?," he asked.

"Holographic projection. Shacklebolt thought we needed to be more open to advanced muggle devices. They're useful at times but annoying."

"Hmph," Harry mumbled and they soon found themselves in a room filled with people dressed in all white robes and lab coats, in front of projections that floated in the air.

"Attention, section 1608-A has been compromised, investigation requested," a pleasant and female, robotic voice quoted as they strode down the hallway past the room.

The team behind Draco dispersed as they came to their respective stations and Draco took Harry to what looked to be an office. The door shut automatically behind Harry and Draco took a seat at his desk and indicated for Harry to do the same.

Harry sat stiffly in the soft chair facing Draco's desk and looked around.

"You mind telling me what all this is about?,"

Draco gazed at Harry a moment and then sighed. "What I'm about to tell you goes no further than this office, Potter. Tell no one. Not Weasley, not Ginny, not anyone. I'd hate to have to obliviate you."

Harry nodded and Draco continued, "Since you've lived for some time in the muggle world, some of this won't be a surprise to you. Though for most muggles and wizards, there exists a separation, a veil if you will between our world and theirs. The muggle world seems—mostly bereft of true magic, but that's not to say that—anomalies don't occur."

Harry lifted his brow in question and Draco continued, "I don't know how this all works, I don't have the proper clearance or interest to really sort it all out anyway, but there are certain components in the muggle world that occasionally cross over to ours. These components, while not really magical in nature have some—magical components."

Harry looked at Draco in confusion and he sighed impatiently. "Potter, seriously you're still confused? Haven't you ever noticed certain aspects in the muggle world that didn't quite make sense?"

Harry thought for a moment and then shook his head. He'd always been a pragmatic child, and flights of fancy had been forbidden in his Aunt's and Uncle's household anyway, that was until he'd known for sure he had magical abilities.

"In the muggle world things like poltergeists, temporal distortions, aliens, psychics, and those with superhuman abilities are a part of a strange category in our world. They aren't based in magic, therefore our laws, our rules, may or may not apply to them. These phenomena will sometimes bleed into our world, and this department was created to contain them."

"But why can't the department of magical law enforcement handle these so-called anomalies? Why does your department exist?"

"Ah," Draco retorted, "Good question. What do you think the ordinary pure-blood would do if he thought there was more to our universe than just muggle or wizard, that there existed some grey area in between the two?"

Harry sat thoughtfully a moment before answering. "Pandemonium. People would go crazy, thinking that their safety, the very foundations of their world is insecure and hazy."

"Exactly. The reason that the pure-blood prejudices have been allowed to flourish is because there is a belief in the absolute purity of things. Though we all know that's a fallacy. Most wizards have become accustomed to the way things are, and have grown to dislike change. Many couldn't perceive that our world, our universe, or really the multi-verse-as there is more than one universe—is not the only space, the only thing that matters. It's sad really, when you think about it."

Harry sat back, shocked and aghast at Draco's admission. He'd never thought he'd see the day when Draco would wax poetic about the advantages of change and the stupidity of pure-blood politics. His shock must have been apparent because Draco chuckled.

"You can pick your jaw up off the floor at any time Harry. I've grown. I'm not the same bigoted little prat you thought I was."

Harry slowly nodded, "It would appear so."

Draco's faced darkened, "My father wanted those things for me. I tried to make it fit; I wanted to _make_ it all fit. But, I just knew deep inside that it wasn't _me_. Merlin, I tried so hard to please that man. In the end, it didn't matter. He chose Voldemort instead. That's all that mattered to him, even my mother wasn't enough."

Draco was silent a moment and he looked off, his expression far-away and distant; pain and loss was visible there, and Harry lowered his eyes, feeling as if he had somehow intruded on something private.

"Right," Draco said snapping back to the discussion at hand, "All's been said and done. What's past is past. Now, this department, as I said, has been organized to contain lots of abnormal things. But the key difference—and this is very key Potter—is that we, like some other offices in the Ministry, work in conjunction with the muggle world. Sometimes anomalies cross over from here onto the other side, and create havoc. No one wants the separation to come tumbling down, that's not good for us or for muggles either."

"So you all exist outside our normal means? How come I didn't know about this before?"

"The less who know the better. Our department was in a sense created to protect the ongoing activities of the wizarding world. If certain—elements—in our society, knew about these abnormalities, there'd be a potential to exploit them."

"So what does this have to do with Hermione?"

Draco paced about the immaculate office a moment and then paused near Harry.

"Our department was first alerted about this soon after your department received word about the murder of Isadora Borgin. Those within your department that operate as our eyes and ears-,"

"There are spies in my department?!" Harry said angrily and Draco put his hands out in a conciliatory gesture.

"It's for the protection of our world Potter! Would you prefer the likes of that sleazy Finklebaum stumbling upon the crime scene and discovering Hermione's signature?" Draco asked, referring to an oft-disliked colleague in the Auror's department who'd made it apparent that he intensely disliked muggles and muggleborns, and was often an alarmist who acted irrationally. It was any wonder he was still working cases.

"You're right. I don't like it, but you're right," Harry reluctantly agreed.

"We believed that the murder of that shopkeeper was an example of one of those anomalies gone awry. I had no idea Hermione was entangled in all this."

Draco sighed heavily and paced once more. "But now that we know," he reasoned, "We have to figure out what this thing is, what it wants and stop it from causing further harm."

A knock at the door sounded and James peeked in, looking more nervous than usual.

"Sir, I found something I think you need to look at."

A few moments later, James, Harry and Draco sat around a plexiglass interface looking at a strange document with figures spilled across it.

"This is an original copy of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. After I discovered the mark on the noble wizard's arm, I cross referenced it with any known texts in the muggle world. What I found is that it coincides with much of the Egyptians' idea of death and the after-life. This symbol here," James pointed, "Indicates a feather or Ma'at, which is a scale that measures a soul worthy of entering into an after-life. But those deemed unworthy, seen by these symbols here-," he pointed, "Were devoured or eaten."

The hairs on Harry's neck stood up as he spied the various symbols. James touched the screen and his finger came to rest upon a rendering which depicted a voracious looking entity.

"This being was called Ammut, or "eater of hearts." She was responsible for making sure those who were not worthy were devoured by eating their essence, which resided in their hearts. Which, explains the bodies with open chest cavities and no hearts."

Draco and Harry stared at the screen before them in disbelief. "So what you're essentially saying is, we're dealing with some sort of muggle goddess?"

"Of a sort. Most muggles in that region of the world no longer worship those deities, as other religions have risen to prominence. It could be that some remnant was imbued with some sort of presence and someone like us, who has magical abilities, could have activated it, releasing what was formerly dormant."

"So why is it killing?," Draco asked.

James reflected a moment then spoke. "It could be that after years and years of disuse it is seeking to replenish its energies."

"Though to what end?," Draco queried and James shrugged.

"I don't know. It could be for any reason or no reason at all. It could be to seek revenge or power, create chaos, who knows at this point."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked.

"Well," Draco answered, "We'll just have to try to be one step ahead of it."

HGHGHGHGHGHG


	8. Chapter 8

It awakened with a start and looked about the room, quickly assessing its level of security. It let out a breath of relief and rolled over onto its side. It could hear Hermione mumbling softly, though it didn't care enough to listen carefully to what the human was saying. It moaned and sat up. It let out a huff and jaunted quickly off the bed. Rays of sunshine were coming in through the closed drapes and it surmised that it had slept for far longer than it had intended. It walked to the bathroom, slipping off the leather outfit from the night before. It was stiff and caked with black blood, and it inspected its wounds, happy to see that they healed while it had rested. It quickly showered, dressed and slid outside, hoping to find someone that would abate its hunger.

The thought of it eating catapulted Hermione into a frenzy of shrill crying and squalling. It ignored her entreaties however, and set about finding its next meal. It walked a few feet before it noticed that the streets were empty of the usual vagrants, hustlers, and prostitutes. Instead it was crawling with aurors. _Fuck!_ It cursed inwardly and ducked into an alleyway. It pulled out Hermione's wand and cast a disillusionment charm, quickly twirling the wand in tight delicate circles about its body until it had transformed its appearance into that of a short, squat older woman with a huge black mole on her chin. The clothes it wore were no longer the fashionable, trendy apparel items it had stolen; instead it wore a long dress and what looked like flat black shoes. It then moved into the street, cautiously edging past the aurors as they swept the streets and buildings.

It had just begun to breathe a little easier when it heard a voice ring out.

"You there!,"

"Yes, sir," it turned and answered demurely.

The auror looked at it suspiciously. "Where are you headed?"

"Just to go to work sir. I have to feed the little ones."

"What do you do?"

"A bit of everything nowadays. But mostly I work in the factories, helping to make brooms sir."

The auror nodded. "Have you noticed any-strange activities lately?"

It snorted and then responded with a short guffaw before remarking, "Well, there are lots of strange activities in this area sir. I tend to mind my own business. Safer that way it is. I've got little ones at home to think about you know. But I haven't seen anything I don't usually see around here, if that's what you mean."

The auror smiled a bit and relaxed. "Yes, I see. Sorry to bother you ma'am."

"It's no trouble at all young man. You're just doing your job."

The auror nodded and was in the process of turning away when suddenly Hermione's magic failed and the disguise faded.

Alarm filled the auror's eyes as it took in Hermione's appearance and he opened his mouth to yell, but was cut short as it let its true nature appear, dragging the hapless and terrified auror into the nearest alleyway.

ooo

It felt full, even pleasantly so, but it hadn't liked the taste of the auror. His essence was too pure, too rich, and filled to the brim with things like valor, honour, and integrity. It choked a bit and spit onto the sidewalk, trying desperately to get the sunny taste of the auror from its tongue.

"This is your fault you know," it said quietly to Hermione. "If you hadn't blocked your magic he wouldn't have died."

Hermione had been crying hysterically the entire time it had fed on the auror. But now she was sitting listlessly in the corner, her eyes and face mucked with phlegm and dried tears.

"_You'd have just killed someone else anyway,"_ she answered drily. Hermione couldn't seem to erase the look of horror on the auror's face from her memory. She hadn't meant for the thing to kill him, she had simply hoped he would _see_, and alert the other aurors. But the thing had been too fast for that.

"True. But maybe not someone so—ridiculously righteous. Ugh!," it spit again and began slipping down a shabbily constructed gangway around a worn down building.

"Give me back your magic Hermione. I've tolerated your tantrums enough," it threatened and Hermione steeled herself against its anger.

"_No."_

"No?!" it queried with its brow lifted slightly.

"_No."_

"How can you live with yourself? Knowing that you contributed to that auror's death? If you don't unblock your magic I'll be forced to kill people until you acquiesce-,"

Hermione laughed bitterly_. "Go ahead. Call attention to yourself. That's exactly what I want you to do."_

_Bitch_, it thought vehemently.

"_Right back at ya,"_ Hermione quipped and it quivered with anger.

It stomped off near a cluster of buildings and then tiptoed across the street and peeked around a corner.

It inwardly raged. It was running like some kind of vermin! Scurrying down side streets in shame, and secreting itself away like some—some—rat!

"Okay, Hermione, if this is how you want to play this game, then fine. I don't need your petty wizarding magic. At least, not for long," it threatened and Hermione swallowed convulsively, wondering what it was planning now.

HGHGHGHG

Draco ran a hand through his hair. The lack of sleep and the strain of the last few days tore at him and he feared he was developing a headache. He groaned and massaged his temples, then reached for his wand, said a quick spell and breathed a sigh of relief when the headache dissipated.

He looked up and saw Harry striding in, a pinched look of worry etched onto his face.

"Nothing?," Draco asked and Harry shook his head.

Draco cursed and slammed his fist down on the desk. His instincts were telling him that they were close—very close. It had to be still in the area, there were few places it could go without being discovered.

A knock at the door startled the two out of their collective reverie and a petite young girl peeked in, glasses nearly falling from her face as she struggled to keep her composure.

"Sir," she said her voice quivering.

"Yes, Ariadne, what is it?"

"It's James! He's-,"

"What is it about James? Does he have any new reports? He was supposed to be here over an hour ago, has he forgotten we're in the middle of a bloody investigation-," Draco snapped and the young girl began sobbing uncontrollably.

"He's dead! They found him twenty minutes ago!" A long moment of silence engulfed the room, punctuated only by the occasional whimper exhaled by the grieving Ariadne.

"How did he die?," Draco said softly.

"His—his body was found with—with his chest ripped open-," the girl began sobbing once more and a muscle flexed in Draco's jaw.

He felt the floor shift beneath him. He stumbled and held onto the desk for support. James? He was dead? That—That was impossible! He couldn't have died! Then he remembered the bodies they had discovered over the course of the investigation. The brutal way the victims had been torn open, hearts devoured. He couldn't imagine James, as annoyingly sweet tempered as he was, enduring such a horrible death. Anger then washed through Draco and he felt his pulse quicken. They were going to find this creature. And then they were going to destroy it. Draco then strengthened his resolved and stood up, ramrod straight.

Harry lowered his eyes and cursed under his breath. He hadn't known James for long, but he had reminded Harry a bit of Hermione with his attention to detail and studiousness.

Draco swallowed the lump growing in his throat and awkwardly put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

His voice was hoarse and tense when he responded.

"Take the day off. We'll handle this."

"No," she replied, "James was my friend. I need to help you with this sir. Please."

Draco nodded. "Let's meet with the team—and see what they've come up with."

Harry got up and followed Draco and Ariadne out the door and into the hallway. The usually bustling offices were solemn and quiet, and Draco gathered that news of James' death had quickly spread.

They came to what looked like a conference room. Several team members were already assembled there, many of them with puffy, red eyes, and several were still weeping silently into handkerchiefs.

Draco looked around. The weight of their sorrow rested heavily on his shoulders. He looked at Harry, who looked back with worried eyes and then rested his fists on the hardwood table.

"This-," he began, and stopped, feeling tears threatening to dissolve his steely exterior. He cleared his throat and began anew.

"This has been—for many of you, a devastating blow. Yet, we have to remember that James would want us to—keep moving forward. We have an obligation to find his killer, to find the monster that has committed these atrocities. Now I'm asking you—all of you—to put aside, just for a moment, your very well placed grief and sadness and to concentrate on finding the thing that did this."

Draco looked around the room and saw that several people had stopped crying and were gazing at him with angry, resolute eyes, nodding their assent. _Good_, Draco thought, _Anger was good_. It would propel their team forward and they would find this thing quickly.

"Now," he paused, "Whose with me?," Draco asked and was not surprised when the entire room stood, their bodies primed for righteous vengeance.


	9. Chapter 9

Hours later, the auror's essence had quickly dissipated within Not-quite-Hermione, and it found itself hungry once more. Its stomach roiled and rumbled as it smelled the magic-essence of thousands of people filing in and out of the various offices of the Ministry. It licked its lips and sighed dejectedly. It could not eat. Not now.

It slipped around a dark corner and looked down at its hands and body. It would need a disguise to go inside. It reached into its dark depths and attempted to fan the flames of its magic. It was still very weak, not having been roused long enough to gather its energies. But its magic was still there. There was a spark, and an indistinct crackle as its magic finally came to life. Its magic was of a different sort than those used by those in the wizarding world. It was an Earthbound magic, the kind which existed in all of mugglekind, but in most muggles, this magic was silent, and mostly suppressed. It was magic with no name, neither light nor dark, neither cruel nor kind. It just was. Just as the trees, the sky and even the concrete beneath muggle feet existed, so was the magic that was imbued within every particle of matter.

It shuddered and then shifted. Hermione howled and raged as pain shot through her body and mind. _Merlin_, she cried, _this hurts_!

Her bones cracked and popped and her skin rippled like waves of water. Her hair became darker, and fell in ebony waves down her back. Her skin became darker as well; being no longer pale and freckled, but now was a smooth, soft chocolate. Her face moved into position and Not-quite-Hermione sighed. She was now Amaya El-Sayed, wife of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the leader of the Ministry of Magic.

The click of her heels on the tile drew the attention of the attendant and she snapped to attention.

"Oh, Mrs. Shacklebolt. I didn't know you were coming! How are you dearie?"

Not-quite-Hermione pasted on a bright, artificial smile. "Oh, just fine. I was just dropping by to see my husband for lunch."

"Oh of course. Go right ahead. You know the way."

Not-quite-Hermione smiled once more. "Of course love. Give your darling grandson a kiss for me."

It made its way to the bank of lifts and pressed the button until it lit up. The doors opened and it stepped inside, smiling happily as it was whisked away to the upper offices.

It quickly strode down the hall, waving briefly to individuals as they greeted her.

It turned a corner and rushed down a hall, using Hermione's stolen memories as a guide. It came to a receptionist's desk and it smiled pleasantly at the woman seated behind it. _Alice?_ _Susan?_ _Sarah was it?_ The thing pushed into Hermione's mind and probed further and found a name.

"Alastair," it chirped happily, "So nice to see you darling."

The black haired woman shifted in her seat and hurriedly put away the latest fashion magazine.

"Mrs. Shacklebolt! I didn't know you'd be here. I—uh—thought you were still vacationing in Paris."

It beamed sweetly and sighed, "It's not a place to go to when you are traveling without the one you love. Much too romantic. I wanted to come home early."

The girl nodded, her head bobbing enthusiastically. "I understand completely. Would you like anything to drink? Or-,"

"No thanks love. I just want to see my husband. I missed him terribly."

"He's going over some important paperwork. He said he didn't want to be disturbed."

"Nonsense," it laughed and then smiled widely, "He won't mind really."

The woman nodded and watched as it crossed the floor and pulled open the doors to Shacklebolt's office, before slipping back behind her desk.

ooo

It strode into the anteroom and then traipsed into Shacklebolt's office. It was decorated with a masculine air, all heavy furniture and dark colors, with hardly any decorations, just a few paperweights along the wooden desk.

Shacklebolt looked up and then smiled easily.

"Maya, darling, I didn't expect you back until-," something suddenly made him stop, and he sat back, considering a bit.

His smile faltered for only a moment and he began reaching under his desk for his wand.

It noticed the suspicion in the man's eyes and strode quickly to the desk, trapping his hand beneath its own.

"I decided to come a little early. I missed you darling."

"Did you?," he asked and it nodded.

"I did."

They stared at each other a moment and then he scrambled for his wand. It knocked the wand aside and it clattered uselessly onto the floor.

"How did you know?" it queried as it came around and gripped Shacklebolt by the neck.

"My wife," he gasped for air and it loosened its grip a bit. "Is she still alive?"

"Oh, I'm sure she's alive and well in Paris somewhere. I wouldn't know. I'm just borrowing her appearance for a bit."

The man seemed visibly relieved and the thing tightened its grip once more. "How did you know?," it repeated.

"She—has a small scar, above her eye—it was made with dark magic during the war."

"Hmph," the thing sighed and then shook his head, "Always the little things we miss."

"Where's the portkey?," the thing queried and the Minister grimaced and remained silent.

It tightened its grip and the man began choking, trying in vain to take in air.

"I—won't tell—you."

"Really?," it responded and flashed its true face. Alarm and horror raced across the minister's face.

Its face settled back into its disguise and it smiled evilly. "Tell me Minister, how many people do you think there are in this building? Hundreds? Thousands? How long would it take me to kill everyone, starting with your mousy, little secretary outside?"

The minister looked into its face, a look of fury settling into his own. "You won't get away with this. I know you won't."

"My, my, aren't we just _full_ of confidence!," it remarked brightly.

It began to dig into the skin of the Minister's neck, and his eyes began to roll into the back of head and he started losing consciousness.

"No, no," it admonished lightly, "That won't do, dear."

She threw him into his chair and he sat up woozily, trying to collect his bearings. He heard the tell-tale click-clack of her heels and the slam of the door and thought it had left. He coughed and looked around for his wand, but it had already summoned Alastair and she came in, her face contorting a bit with confusion and alarm as it took in the Minister's appearance. Yet before she could ask questions, Not-quite-Hermione grabbed a handful of Alastair's thick hair and pulled hard. Alastair screamed a bit and the thing laughed.

The Minister jumped up and fought a wave of nausea and dizziness before righting himself.

"Unhand her!" he commanded and Not-quite-Hermione giggled.

"Of course not, you silly little man," it commented and roughly deposited a whimpering Alastair onto a chair. The Minister watched as rope came from the floor and wrapped around Alastair's body. She continued to struggle. It sighed happily and looked down at the bound woman. Its magic was coming along nicely. It looked back to the Minister and noticed he was trying to collect his wand. Just as his hand closed over it, its high heel shoes came slamming down onto his hand.

The Minister screamed in pain and it bent and picked up the wand, snapping it into two.

"Oops," it remarked and strode back over to the bound woman.

It ran its hands over her hair and looked pointedly at the Minister as he cradled his hand.

"I would hate to have to kill this woman," it began then smirked, "Who am I kidding? I couldn't care less, it is however, extremely messy."

"Here's the thing. If you don't tell me where the portkey is, I _will_ kill this lovely woman. But not before I tear her, limb-," it caressed one cheek, "From delicious little limb."

The Minister swallowed convulsively. He knew it was serious. He could see it in its eyes. "It's, hidden in a compartment, beneath the bookshelf to your right."

He watched as she pulled open a drawer and revealed a key, nestled upon a pillow.

"Oh, thank you ever so much Minister! Unfortunately, I'll still have to kill you both. But it'll be quick, I promise."

A feeling swept over Not-quite-Hermione and she shivered. A tingling went up the arm that pulled open the drawer and it turned to the Minister, accusation clear in its eyes.

"What did you do?," she snarled.

"The portkey drawer is warded. My team will be here shortly."

ooooo

A tickling, itching sensation came over Draco and he screamed, "Code red!"

Everyone snapped into action and some had already apparated instantly to the upper offices. Draco apparated with Harry in tow. He then tried to calm the feeling of nausea that hit him after being dumped unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor of the hallway near the Minister's office.

"What's going on?," Harry asked.

"The Minister's portkey. Its wards went off. He's in danger."

Harry pulled out his wand and followed Draco and a few team members down the hall, past the reception desk and finally into his office.

Winds were blowing erratically in the office and papers flew everywhere.

Not-quite-Hermione eyed Draco and his team and grinned.

"Too late boys!"

"She can't use the key! Only a select few witches and wizards can!," shouted the Minister of the swirling winds.

"I am no ordinary witch or wizard! I am truly extraordinary!," it yelled and reached for the key.

"No!" Draco yelled angrily and rushed over to Hermione. Not-quite-Hermione smiled once, gave Draco the finger and then disappeared.

ooooo

Harry paced the office. Mediwizards were repairing the damage to the Minister's hand and Draco was sitting dejectedly in a chair, pondering their next move. They quickly finished healing the Minister's injuries and he shooed them away as they fussed about, and Alastair came to his rescue by quietly leading them away and out the door. A heavy silence then descended up all three, with Harry still pacing, the sound of his shoes hitting the tile filling the space around them.

"We weren't fast enough! I can't believe we didn't see this coming!" Harry finally proclaimed, breaking the heavy silence.

"Shacklebolt," Draco began softly, "The portkey goes to Azkaban correct?"

The Minister nodded.

"Who else has a portkey?," Harry questioned and the Minister sighed tiredly.

"Nymphadora Tonks had a copy. She was entrusted with the only other copy during the war."

Draco groaned and rubbed his temples as the headache threatened to return.

"Why do I have a feeling that we're not going to like what you're going to say next?" Draco stated drily and Harry stopped pacing a moment to focus an intense gaze onto the Minister.

The Minister seemed to squirm a bit beneath his gaze and drew in a shaky breath before muttering, "She no longer has the key."

"Okay….well that certainly makes things a bit more difficult," Draco muttered.

Harry stood arms akimbo, "What aren't you telling us Minister?"

The Minister looked down at the floor and then back up at Harry, "After Nymphadora was tortured and nearly killed by Bellatrix-,"

Draco drew in a long breath and closed his eyes briefly before opening them and sitting back, his gaze narrowed as the Minister continued.

"Bellatrix had it briefly, but ultimately it was recovered and destroyed after the war."

Now Draco stood and gazed at the Minister, comprehension slowly dawning upon him.

"So what you're saying is, is that some—_thing_ is running around as we speak with the _only_ copy of the portkey to Azkaban, and here we are, the infantry of the wizarding world and we can't even go after it?," Draco sighed deeply and began pacing with his hand over the now fully developed headache, "Bloody brilliant."

"There is a way. I can put together a team and you all can apparate out to a boat at sea around the area. I can owl the officials running the prison and they will escort you inside."

"Yes, that's great. What happens if we're too late? What if she's done Merlin knows what with every soul inside? Then what Minister?," Draco challenged and the Minister paused a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face and then he sighed heavily.

"That is a task I will leave to you. I've failed us with my arrogance, thinking that the dangers to our world have passed. If we move quickly enough we can save as many lives as possible."

Harry swallowed and he and Draco shared a look. Harry then turned to the Minister and nodded. "Get your team together. We _will_ move quickly."

ooooo

The bodies of the wizarding guards lay haphazardly around it. Blood coated the walls and lay in messy puddles along the floor, marking the neatly laid tiles in pools of scarlet. It sighed in contentment and grinned. There was so much _anger_ here, so much depravity. Even the guards had souls tainted with darkness, and it was _delicious_. The whispers of the dementors lingered in this place, it thought. So sad that they were no longer here. It would have loved to feast on the blackness of their hearts. If they had any at all. It shrugged nonchalantly and whistled a merry tune, blood dripping from its unsheathed claws and demented smile as it traipsed to the cells above.

It reached the upper floor and was nearly bowled over by the weight of intense emotions, most of them negative in nature and it grinned, its eyes dancing with delight. Hermione's protests were dulled beneath the roar of its hunger and slowly made its way to a cell and peeked in. A chubby man with a rat like face sat in a corner, gazing with abject sorrow out of the tiny window. His hair was a tangled mess and his face and body were covered with grime, dirt, and it sniffed—ugh—and bodily secretions. _No matter_, it thought, _it was all blood and gore in the end_.

Strengthened by the consumption of so many magical essences, breaking the magic that surrounded the door was an easy task, as well as physically taking it off its hinges.

The prisoner sat up, shocked and amazed as Not-quite-Hermione strode in.

"You—what are you doing here?!," he spat and it grinned widely, its eyes flickering to violet as it assessed its prey.

"Whatever do you mean?," it said innocently and the prisoner jumped up, enraged.

"Granger, you're the reason I'm here! It's your fault! You and those two blood traitor friends of yours. You stupid mudblood, I could kill you!"

Not-quite-Hermione made a tsking sound and walked slowly about the small cell.

"Oh, no dear. You must be terribly confused. I'm here to kill _you_!"

The man moved away, his confidence shaken and his expression baffled as he finally took in Hermione's state of dress and bloodied appearance.

Not-quite-Hermione's eyes bled black and he yelled.

"No, you're one of the good ones, you and Potter and Weasley-,"

It advanced upon the dark wizard, its face changing, morphing and becoming monstrous.

"Please!," he begged, "Please!"

His pleas and subsequent screams of agony filled Not-quite-Hermione with pleasure as she fed. _And oh yes_—it thought—_this one has a black, dark heart_.

ooooo

Not even an hour later Not-quite-Hermione had leveled the entire first floor of prisoners had fed voraciously. She had blown the hinges off all the doors on the second level simultaneously, and some of the more curious prisoners peeked out, and it strolled loftily along the hallway picking off prisoners one by one. Some of them put up little to no resistance, some of them ran out of their cells screaming and fighting once she caught them. And others—the broken ones, seemed nearly oblivious to her presence, at least—until nearly the end, when some spark of survival instinct seemed to kick in and they struggled for a moment, then died pitifully.

Not-quite-Hermione pouted. This was getting to be all too easy. For dark wizards, they seemed awfully—defeated. It shrugged. No matter, it thought. It was feeling so full of magical essence that it felt better than it had in thousands of years. Its fingers crackled with energy; the energy even danced about Not-quite-Hermione's fingers and about the puffy halo of curly hair on its head. It would take back its rightful place, and it will all be so—_scrumptious_. It floated on a current of energy and turned a corner, it spied a prisoner cowering in a cell and it smiled. This prisoner was female, and the female fell upon her knees in supplication, her hair a dirty, tangled rat's nest and her face a mottled blotch of scratches and bruises.

Not-quite-Hermione looked closer and then laughed. The sound echoed like wind-chimes before softly fading away.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Not-quite-Hermione announced and the witch looked up, fear etched onto her face and body.

"Mu—Granger," she said hesitantly and pulled herself into the corner.

"Oh, no need to censor yourself. Say it! Call me a mudblood so that when I kill you, it will make your blood, your essence all the darker, all the sweeter as I consume it."

Bellatrix blinked and the sheen of insanity that had haunted her even before the war cleared a bit and she realized she was in mortal danger. She glanced at the thing that was and wasn't Hermione and then bolted.

Not-quite-Hermione easily snatched her back and Bellatrix bellowed high and loud, her voice raised to the heavens as Not-quite-Hermione came down softly and gracefully onto the ground.

"Please-," she began and Not-quite-Hermione rolled its eyes. "How unoriginal. Do you realize how many people have said that? Please, please _please_!," It mocked and giggled. Bellatrix wriggled in its grip and it smoothed a hand through Bellatrix's knotted hair.

"Please-," Bellatrix entreated once more then added, "Master."

"What did you say?," Not-quite-Hermione asked and reared back.

"I called you-," Bellatrix sputtered and cried before beginning again, "I called you _master_."

Not-quite-Hermione grinned rapaciously and Bellatrix began to shake. Hermione snickered before dropping her unceremoniously onto the hard floor.

"It's been a long time since I've had a pet. You will serve me, yes?"

"Yes, master," Bellatrix agreed and Not-quite-Hermione clapped her hands together.

"Excellent. You'll make things much easier. I've always said, work smart, not hard. But no one really heeds good advice these days."

Bellatrix nodded absently and rose slowly from the ground, lowering her head in deference.

"What will you have me do, master?," Bellatrix inquired softly and Not-quite-Hermione shot her a look that was filled with a strange mix of predatorial hunger and pride.

"Ah, hit the ground running do you? You'll make a lovely pet. Why my dear, you're going to lead us to the final battleground where Voldemort fell."

"To do what? What are you planning?" Bellatrix asked quickly and then lowered her head as Not-quite-Hermione turned to her slowly. Bellatrix backed away, "I'm sorry master, I shouldn't have presumed to-,"

"No, it's alright, pet. We're going to the final battle site to do some digging."

"Digging?"

"Why yes," Not-quite-Hermione agreed, "We're going to resurrect your old friend Voldemort."

Bellatrix gasped and Not-quite-Hermione hummed a tune a bit and then motioned to Bellatrix.

"Come along dear. I do believe the cavalry's coming."

ooooo

Harry and Draco led the various teams through the maze of bodies. Draco covered his mouth with a handkerchief and tried not to gag. The sight that had greeted them had been horrific outside, near the gates, but this—this was far worse.

"Where is she?," Harry wondered aloud and Draco looked about, noting the damage.

"It looks like she went from floor to floor. Systematically—killing-everyone. Let's get up to the upper floors and see if we can find her."

They tread carefully across the blood soaked floors, flanked by their teams, their horror growing as they encountered each new body, each new section.

They had just reached a section of the prison where special cases were held and Draco swallowed, a knot of fear forming in his stomach as he realized who else would be housed there.

They reached a corner and turned, noticing the sweep of fabric floating about as it entered a cell whose door had been blasted open. Harry and Draco advanced, wands held aloft as they neared the door.

Draco took a deep breath and stood in front of the door bravely, alongside Harry, and vowed silently to show no fear.

Not-quite-Hermione turned slowly, her movements crisp and sharp, like an owl's, and Draco shuddered. They must have interrupted her feeding as the prisoner beneath her was moaning in pain and still very much alive.

"Malfoy, how nice of you to come," Hermione remarked and blood sputtered from her lips and onto the floor.

"Hermione-," Draco said slowly, "Please, fight this _thing_-,"

It guffawed, deep and heavy, clutching its belly and tittering.

"LET HER GO!," Draco commanded and it shrugged.

"If you insist," she simpered prettily and then sighed, "I don't need this body anymore anyway. I think I'll take my leave of it. Ugh—she's much too boring! And the constant nagging and chattering! You can have her."

Hermione then blasted the wall, and the ancient stone gave way. Winds blew in and Hermione giggled.

"Perfect day to be reborn, don't you think?," she yelled and then emitted an high pitch squeal as black smoke erupted from her mouth.

Draco and Harry stepped back.

"What's happening to her!," Draco roared and Harry pushed him aside as the stone foundations rocked, and a piece of jagged stone nearly impaled him.

"We've got to hurry!" Harry shouted back and Draco nodded, readying his wand for the spell.

Then light—bright and blinding—overcame the cell. Everyone blinked and faltered, the team members blindly trying to follow the sound of Draco's voice as he directed them closer.

A feeling of—fullness—spread across the expanse and Hermione screamed, filaments of darkness spread from her fingers and she was lifted into the air and then thrown down.

A figure, an outline was emerging from the shroud of inky darkness that surrounded Hermione's body and the light bounced around it, almost as if the thing was a black hole and was greedily absorbing it. Hermione's screams were blood curdling; and made Draco flinch with their intensity. There were a series of pulses, echoes, sounds, and then once, where there was one, there were now two.

Hermione collapsed against the wall and the thing, now freed stalked nakedly across the cell, examining its hands and feet. Draco tried to find the words to describe her, but he fell short. The being before him, in the shape of a human woman, was easily the most beautiful thing he'd had ever seen. Her tan skin and exotic almond shaped eyes enhanced her magnificent features that pouted as she spun about the small space. Her long ebony hair hit below a winsome waist and full breasts bounced as it happily surveyed its new body.

It laughed and Draco quickly stood, his wand trained on the newly emerged creature.

"Now, let's not be hasty Drake," it purred and Draco flinched from the use of childhood nickname. "You wouldn't attack a poor, defenseless woman, now would you?"

"You are no mere _woman _and I'd say you're hardly defenseless."

"True. Well, I'd love to stay and chat but I've got things to do,"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!," Harry bellowed and the green light spun quickly from his wand and slammed into the thing standing before them.

It smiled prettily and caught the spell like it was nothing more than a muggle baseball. It examined it a moment, made a noise that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a grunt and threw it back at Harry.

"NO!," Draco roared as Harry was slammed into the hard stone behind him and then shuddered and twitched once, then twice before sliding down the wall and lying still against the ground.

Draco advanced upon the creature and it grabbed Bellatrix from her hiding place beneath the prisoner's bed and backed up against the space where the wall had been.

"Time flies when you're having fun you know," she proclaimed and fell backwards into the air, pulling Bellatrix with her. Draco ran to the edge and looked down below. There was a flash and then—they were gone.

"Fuck!," he yelled and look over at the prisoner she'd been feeding from. Long, unkempt gray hair had tumbled about his face and Draco crawled over to him, pulling the strands from his face and then he cringed.

Lucius Malfoy was staring dazedly up at him as his life's blood was pooling around him. Draco swallowed convulsively and looked down at eyes that mirrored his own.

Conflicting emotions rushed to the surface of his mind as he watched his father bleeding out onto the dirty, cold floor. Lucius struggled a moment and then reached up to him and weakly murmured, "Draco-,"

"Father, we'll get some help for you-,"

"No," his father rasped, "Too late. Wanted to-,"

"Save your energy,"

"Wanted to say—sorry," his gaze then fixated on something only he could see and he breathed, "I have such a—dark-_heart_," he breathed and then the light in his eyes faded and disappeared. The blood continued to pump onto the floor for a moment more before slowing and stopping altogether.

ooooo


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione, the real and true Hermione, lay beneath the sumptuous coverlets and shivered. It seemed that no matter what she did these days she was always cold. An aftereffect of the possession she supposed. She sighed and kicked off the warm covers and pushed herself off the soft bed and landed softly onto the floor. She reached for a robe, slid on her slippers and sauntered to the door. She looked about and yelped as a house elf nearly barreled into her.

"Master Draco says miss is not to strain herself," it parroted and Hermione sighed.

"I'm fine, really I am. Where is—Draco by the way?"

"He is in the study miss."

"Could you take me there?"

The house elf nodded amicably and happily led Hermione down the cavernous hall. As they padded towards their destination, Hermione wondered at the irony of her current situation. She had never imagined she'd ever come back to Malfoy Manor, and as a guest no less. She struggled with the onslaught of violent memories of being tortured and humiliated, one tumbling on top of the other and was startled when the house elf stopped abruptly and pulled her into the small, and surprisingly cozy study.

"Thank you—erm-," Hermione sputtered and the house elf curtsied.

"My name is Skippy ma'am."

"Skippy?," Hermione's brows knit together in confusion and it nodded so hard that the bow on its head fell forward.

"Like the peanut butter miss. I love peanut butter," with that declaration it meandered aimlessly away and down into the darkened hall before disappearing.

Hermione traipsed into the warm room and faltered slightly when she saw Draco, his eyes racing studiously across the page of a book and his hair swept casually and errantly across his face and in his eye. Every few seconds or so, he'd reach up to pull it back in irritation and his free hand tapped out an errant staccato beat as he read.

"Draco," she began and he jumped, startled.

"Hermione," he remarked, "You're up and about."

"I couldn't stay in bed all day."

They stared at each other a moment in tense silence and then Draco stood and sighed.

"I—I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yes," she grinned shyly, "I am."

Draco came around the desk and sat in on the small sofa nearby. He indicated to Hermione to take a seat and slid onto the soft cushions, not quite sure what to say.

The moment stretched thin and then she spoke.

"You—loved me."

"Yes," Draco answered and looked away before fixing a searing gaze onto her face and Hermione looked down, her cheeks flaming.

"Do you—still-,"

"Yes," he answered without pause and Hermione gasped. She fretted with the ties on her robe and then slowly looked up to the man she had thought she had known. Her brows knit together in confusion and she sighed.

"When did you—when did you know you loved me?,"

"Fifth year. It began around the time you and I had to study together for the O.W.L.S. as punishment for that stupid duel in the common room,"

Hermione groaned, "Ugh. It was either that or detention, and I'd already decided that detention wouldn't do if I were to be head girl and Harry thought it was so funny when I hexed you-,"

"I'm babbling," Hermione stated and then paused. The silence stretched out once more, but the tension had eased a bit.

Draco grinned softly and his eyes lit up in a way Hermione had never seen before.

"You do that when you're nervous you know."

Hermione nodded, and Draco moved closer, "You don't have to be nervous around me Hermione. I won't hurt you. I'll _never_ hurt you."

She nodded again and then looked down at the tips of her slippers.

"If you stare a hole into the floor Hermione I may have to charge you for repairs," he quipped and she smiled at the familiar cocky smirk that lazed upon his face.

"Still an arrogant git I see," she teased and he shrugged before brushing his fingers across her hand ever so lightly.

Hermione drew in a shaky breath and tried to focus her thoughts, which had scattered the moment Draco had touched her.

"What happened to you after I escaped?"

A far away expression crossed Draco's face and he grimaced. His face darkened as an onslaught of memories tore into him and he bit back a wave of old fear and instead stiffened with anger.

"I was punished."

Hermione's heart constricted in her chest. His terse reply was filled with the expanse of the nightmarish possibilities she knew only those in league with Voldemort could force one to suffer. She watched as his face tensed and muscles flexed angrily in his jaw and she shuddered. She couldn't—didn't—want to know what had happened. She didn't want to know what manner of torture had been visited upon him, and yet—she owed him this. She owed him this small, tiny thing.

"How did they—what did they-," she stammered and he looked down a moment, his body still and Hermione tensed. She wondered if it was _her_ fault, after all it was _she _who had run. And she hadn't looked back. She had run and didn't think of what could befall him, her only thoughts being of Harry and Ron at the time. It was selfish really. He hadn't wanted to be a death eater, no matter how she had tried justifying it to herself later on, and it wasn't his fault. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought the sting of hot tears building inside her. She needed to know, to be made aware of every little horrible thing he had endured for her sake. She owed him _this_.

Her hands bunched into fists as he slowly, and torturously unbuttoned his crisp shirt. Once it was unbuttoned he slipped it off his shoulders and turned away from Hermione.

She gasped. His muscular back was marred by a criss-cross of old burns, scars and ugly contusions. His flesh was mottled in some places, as if he'd been stabbed over and over again, yet his flesh was eerily smooth in other areas, and Hermione surmised it had probably had been peeled away with dark magic only to be regrown so the process could begin again. She studied the ugly line of flesh and tried hard to contain her horror. He had suffered, and he had done so, for _her_.

He quickly slipped his shirt back onto his frame, as if he was ashamed and Hermione stilled his hands as they worked feverishly to button.

"Draco," Hermione spoke, her tone soft and gently, "Don't-,"

He tried to pull away and she touched pulled his hands into her own.

"You shouldn't be ashamed," she told him, her eyes brimming with tears

He avoided her gaze and she delicately placed her hands on his cheeks, and pulled his gaze toward her own.

"Thank you Draco," she voiced, the tears that had threatened to fall, were now sliding across her cheeks.

"Thank you," she repeated and then slowly, languidly moved herself forward before letting her lips crashed passionately into his own.

Surprised, he stiffened at first, then responded as years of want and desire flowed from deep within him into the sweetness of her mouth. Hermione didn't know how long they sat like that, exploring each other, caressing with tongues and the mingling of breaths. When she finally pulled away, the artifice, the façade upon his face had melted for a moment; and his expression was naked and exposed. What Hermione saw there made her weak and her breath caught in her throat.

"I—should go," she announced and Draco nodded. She stood, looking back at him once before slipping out the door and into the hall. Once there, she took in a deep breath and sauntered back to her room, her emotions a tangle of confusion and fear. Draco Malfoy loved _her_. Merlin help her, but though she didn't feel the same way—at least she didn't think she did—she could feel a spark, an ember inside her ignite, lighting up the darkness that had been growing inside her.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been two months since his resurrection and she was _bored_. Oh, it had been fun letting him run about, causing havoc within the unsuspecting wizarding world with his old cronies, but she'd rather get down to business now. She sighed and stretched languidly and watched the scene as it played out before her, as she sat, invisible in the shadows. Voldemort was torturing a former death eater, his wand was making quick work of the man, and he was a sobbing, blubbering mess, his skin a mass of oozing wounds, sores and puss. The man lived for a few more minutes before Voldemort tired of his incessant crying and used the killing curse. He fell over dead and the death eaters all smiled, some of them even laughing.

"Do you not see? This is was the man who chose to stop believing in our cause. But all of you-," a look passed upon his twisted face in a way that was supposed to mimic a smile, "You never stopped believing. Never dared to stop practicing the very thing that ties us together."

Voldemort paced a moment and held his wand still a bit and then sighed. "This man consorted with all manner of muggle and muggle born, sought _redemption_, in their pathetic eyes and do you see what it has cost him? Us? No. We must stay true to the path."

He turned and the crowd of death eaters, some of them older members and others—the newly initiated gathered around Voldemort as he continued speaking.

She rolled her eyes. Such melodrama. How insipid were these death eaters that they followed a man who spoke of purity when he himself was only a half-blood? She would never understand humans. They were a stupid lot.

Voldemort quickly dismissed them all and they filed out of the doors and Bellatrix strode to Voldemort's side and smiled.

"We've missed you, my love," Bellatrix purred.

He nodded absently then stepped away to pace. It was then that she stepped from the shadows, clad in strips of leather, all strategically placed to convey both modesty and indecency, her long legs swathed in high heels boots that scraped her thighs and an ancient crown intertwined atop the fall of ebony curls about her head.

She walked—no—glided across the floor, nearly as effortlessly as Nagini had ever done, and yet there lay in her stride the promise of sex—and beneath it all, there was the promise of certain death, but it lay hidden beneath the smell of her, the intoxicating scent of skin and clean sweat.

Voldemort eyed her as she came to stand in front of him, his expression not of deference but a strange mix of defiant impassivity.

"Voldemort," she said, her lips wrapping around each letter in a way that would have curled a lesser man's toes, but instead Voldemort felt—well, he wouldn't admit the tingle of fear that coursed through him, he had never been afraid of anyone in his entire life or otherwise, and he wouldn't start now. No—he hated this—_thing_. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of her.

"You have disobeyed me. I was very displeased to hear that you attacked Diagon Alley in search of the girl. Do not touch her. She is mine."

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and his face darkened a moment before smoothing and he tilted his head to the side a bit, calculating, then said,

"Why would a being such as yourself have need of a mudblood like Granger?,"

She shrugged elegantly and then remarked, "I have my reasons."

"As I said you are not to touch her," she repeated.

She then turned and crossed the floor to the delectable spread of food in the middle of the cavernous room and popped a grape into her mouth. She moaned and her pleasure seemed almost sexual as she chewed.

"I am the Dark Lord. It is my destiny to destroy those who would seek to ally themselves with mudbloods and traitors. I will usher in a new world, a new era-,"

She was back in front of him in a flash, so quickly that Bellatrix, who had been standing silently the entire time watching the exchange, blanched and stepped away from Voldemort. Even in her crazed condition she worried more for her mortal self than Voldemort's hide. The—_thing_ that had been Hermione had a look on its face that promised something like violence, but not the kind that she had seen before displayed in the Manor, no—this was different and it was tinged with a darkness even Bellatrix couldn't fathom. Bellatrix began backing away and maneuvering towards the door.

"Close the door when you leave Bellatrix. And see that no one comes near this room for the next ten minutes."

Bellatrix nodded and squeaked out, "Yes—master," and then ran out hastily, yanking the door closed behind her.

Voldemort's expression turned dark and he gripped his wand tightly as he stood beneath her gaze.

"Would you like all your little friends to know exactly how you were resurrected? Would you like them to know exactly how indebted you are to _me_?"

"I have no debts."

"Ah."

She began pacing about him in a tight circle and came to face his once more.

Her face then changed, morphed and for a moment she looked almost vampiric, except her eyes had turned inky and black.

She pressed her lips onto his and he resisted at first, and then stood still as stone as she bit his lip and drew blood with her sharp teeth.

She moaned and licked her lips. "Such dark, dark, blood. You have a very dirty heart Voldemort. Don't misbehave again. I'd be tempted to devour it."

She pushed his face aside and ripped his robe a bit to reveal a vast expanse of neck, whose creamy pallor allowed translucent veins to be seen. She threw her head back and then struck fast like a snake and managed to pull a scream from his throat. She continued to feed from his neck and body for the next few minutes and Bellatrix stood outside the door, listening to the former Dark Lord beg for mercy.


	12. Chapter 12

St. Mungo's had been filled to the brim since the attacks began. Hermione could hear the voices of the terrified patients as they moaned, shrieked and wailed. Healer Ufgood rushed from bed to bed, his pristine robes flapping about as he attended to an ever increasing number of patients. He finally stopped before Hermione and she looked about guiltily, the pain of her own wounds fading as she took in the scene.

"Ah, Ms. Granger," he said and grinned, "I do believe it's been years."

"Y-yes," she stammered and sighed, "Look, you all are much too busy and I'm fine really,"

"Nonsense! That looks to be an ugly gash Ms. Granger. I am bound by the ethics of my profession to treat everyone, even those who insist they are really just fine."

He flashed Hermione a quick smile and motioned to another healer standing nearby.

"Now please tell us how you received your wound."

"I was fighting a group of Death Eaters near Cloverly. One of them hexed me. I don't remember much after that. My fellow fighters brought me here."

"Hmm…," he thought and stroked his chin. "Ms. Aftney," he addressed the other healer, "Please take Ms. Granger to another area. A full diagnostic should be performed of course."

The healer nodded and pulled Hermione from the large room, down the hall and into a brightly lit room. There the healer carefully examined Hermione, checking for serious trauma and contusions. Satisfied that she appeared healthy, she quickly closed the gash with her wand and then stood back, admiring her work.

She nodded quietly before raking her eyes over the wounded area once more and then sighed.

"You say you don't remember anything after being hexed?" she asked and Hermione nodded.

"Yes. I just remember being hit and then—I was here."

"Hmph."

Hermione tried to fight the rising tide of panic and swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

"Is anything the matter?"

"No, but I'd like to make sure that the hex has nothing to do with your memory loss. Some hexes, especially dark ones, can be progressive. They start out with a mild case of forgetfulness or amnesia, including not remembering certain events, dates, that sort of thing. But can quickly cause memory collapse as it continues."

Noting the look of alarm on Hermione's face the healer quickly thought to calm her.

"It's simply a routine diagnostic. Most likely you've had a mild concussion but I'd like to be sure."

Hermione nodded and the healer began going through the series of tests before finally stopping and stepping back, an unreadable expression on her face.

After a few agonizing moments the healer smiled. "You're free to go. It looks as if you only had some mild bruising, but there's no serious damage. Be sure to rest for the next few days."

Hermione stood, and with a curt nod exited the room to walk slowly down the hallway. She turned a corner and then fell against a wall as vertigo assailed her, only to be replaced by a searing ache. She fell to her knees and tried to even out her breathing. Sweat beaded across her forehead and she shuddered as a barrage of memories washed over her.

_Her sitting in a dank, dirty cell at Malfoy Manor. She was starving and hadn't eaten for days and her stomach roiled with hunger, and her lips were cracking from dehydration. She is relieved when Draco sneaks her food and water…._

_She had been beaten and tortured until she was bloodied. Draco sneaks into her cell and heals her wounds, and gives her a blanket to ward off the heavy chill in the air._

_She's lying on a soft makeshift pallet near Draco's bed after he has "purchased," her. She is fed daily, is kept clean and he gives her updates on death eater activities…_

_She is watching as Draco sleeps and realises with a heavy heart that she loves him…._

_She and Draco making love for the first time…._

_Draco comforting her after telling her that Cho Chang had been killed…._

_She and Draco kissing….._

_Draco running his hands through her hair as she falls asleep…._

_Lucius' attempts to hurt her and Draco openly defying his father…._

_She and Draco slipping out of the manor after Lucius beats, rapes and tortures her…_

_Draco mouthing, "I love you," before he makes her forget her love for him…._

It all comes rushing back. All of it. Her love for him spills into her chest and fills her up until she feels she could explode. She takes into deep gasps of air and slides down the wall. _Merlin_….she thinks….I _love_ him. Soon, another tide of feelings begins flowing beneath those of her love and loyalty to Draco Malfoy. She is angry. She fights back tears and a quiet sob shudders through her. He made her _forget_. How could he? But deep down she knew why. She could understand his position. She could understand that she would have never left the Manor without him. And without Draco working from the inside, the Order would not have been able to turn the tide of war. Voldemort and his supporters would have come after them en masse and it would have been impossible to run, to hide. She choked out a ragged squall and wrapped her arms around herself. Yes, she could understand it, but she couldn't stomach it. She could feel the cold taste of betrayal as it rolled about on her tongue and she gagged. He could he do that to her? To _them_? She stood and straightened herself. She needed answers. _Now_.

Hermione flew through the doors, startling the team of Aurors and fighters as they planned their defense strategies. Harry took in the look on her face and mumbled an excuse before slipping out a side door, a few Aurors quickly trailing behind him.

* * *

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF DRACO MALFOY!," she bellowed and a few of the portraits left their frames, and the last few Aurors in the room tiptoed out, leaving Draco alone with a very angry, very irate Hermione.

He sighed and placed the book in his hand down onto the desk.

"You remember," he began without preamble and she didn't answer, she simply stood there with her eyes going wet with tears and tremors moving up the length of her body.

"You made me _forget_. Why? Why would you do that?"

He ran his hand through his platinum locks and shrugged. "What do you want me to say Hermione? That I regret it? I don't. Your safety was—IS—everything to me."

"And what about what I wanted? Aren't my feelings just as important?"

"Of course they are Hermione. But you have to understand. I did it to protect you."

"To _protect_ me?! I spent years feeling alone, feeling as if I didn't have anyone to turn to. And all along you _knew_."

Draco's expression softened and he swallowed convulsively. Hermione could see the sheen of tears across his eyes and tried desperately to hold on to the edge of anger inside her.

"I—needed you to be away from it. The death, the horror, the pain—all of it. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, it would have killed me. And when I found you that day-,"

She knew exactly what day he was referring to and she felt her eyes fill up even more and tears ran haphazardly down her cheeks.

"I couldn't imagine what they had done to you. No—I could. I just—I couldn't—I had to make you leave. I didn't know what my father had done to you and you wouldn't tell me anything. So I felt I had no choice. The next time he and those bastards would have killed you."

He didn't try to hide the swell of emotion that coursed through him, and he crossed the floor to pull her into his arms.

"Do you hate me now Hermione?," he asked and pulled away from her.

She thought a moment. Oh how she wanted to! How she wanted things to be as simple as they were the day before! But the love she felt for him could not be denied. It roiled and bubbled in a rolling tide as steady as a pulse, beneath the surface of her skin.

She turned away a moment, then spoke softly, "No."

A mixture of emotions pushed across the surface of Draco's face, including relief, and finally, guilt.

"I should have protected you. I foolishly believed that by claiming you as my slave that the others would leave you alone. I was wrong. I failed you. I didn't deserve your love."

Hermione felt her anger slipping slowly away into the vortex of emotions behind it. She closed the distance between them, slipped into his embrace and then gently cupped his cheeks.

"You were so young. We all were. We were children making adult decisions. I think you did everything in your power to keep me safe, and for that, I will always love you."

Draco was openly crying now. "But he raped you! He hurt you! I don't know if can live with myself knowing that-,"

"Shhh," she soothed and pressed her lips lightly against his. She kissed him gently, softly, her lips coaxing his to accept her and open. The kiss deepens, and there is flick of tongue, a press of breath and bodies, and a slow pool of desire growing and building between them. They nearly forget that they are in the main study, that there are Aurors waiting outside. It is only when Harry clears his throat that they break apart; their cheeks splotched red with embarrassment and need.

Harry sighed heavily. "If Ron were here, he'd hex you Malfoy. But as it stands, Hermione is an adult and I assume she's pawing all over you of her own free will?"

Hermione nodded and rolled her eyes, "Yes, Harry. It's a very long story but I—we—well, we love each other Harry."

Harry gave her a look of utter disbelief before narrowing his eyes. "And he hasn't cursed you? Did you take any potions?"

"No Harry," she moaned, "And you can even admit, he's far from the brat he used to be in school."

Harry nodded begrudgingly and then pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was warding off a headache.

"Just tell me you'll be careful Hermione."

"Harry-," she warned and he threw up his hands defensively, "Okay, okay. I support you Hermione. I don't understand—_this_," he indicates Draco who flashes him a cocky smirk, "But I do support you."

"Thank you Harry."

"Now," Harry began, his voice taking on a firm, clipped tone, "There appears to have been other-infiltrations."

Hermione looked worriedly from Draco to Harry. Harry seemed hesitant to speak. "How bad is it?" Hermione urged.

Harry swallowed. "We don't know yet. But multiple areas were attacked, including Hogwarts."

Hermione gasped, then quickly sat down. Something seemed to be at the edge of her mind, it tingled like an itch she couldn't quite scratch, she could almost grasp it, but it would slip away before she could firmly assess. There was something here—something bigger about all this than just random attacks.

"This is a distraction," she suddenly commented and Harry stiffened.

"What do you mean?,"

"The attacks are a distraction, a ploy. When I was possessed the entity was constantly thinking of something—_bigger_. It had a plan. I wasn't privy to all of it, but I was able to catch glimpses every now and then. It's throwing us the red herring."

Harry snorted, "We haven't seen hide nor hair of this creature since—Azkaban," he said and shuddered. Hermione knew he was remembering being hit with some sort of rebound curse. Fortunately, whatever it had hit him with hadn't been fatal, but Harry had spent three long agonizing weeks trying to recover.

"What makes you think it's still here?," Harry continued and Hermione shrugged.

"Just-," she paused. Should she tell them about the dreams she'd been having? The visions? That she and that _thing_ were connected somehow? Hermione immediately dismissed the notion. It would only worry them, and right now she wasn't sure if what she was sensing was real or just her imagination. "Just a feeling I have I guess."

"So you think this creature was responsible for bringing Voldemort back? But for what purpose?! It doesn't make sense. Hermione, do you remember anything at all about that day in Azkaban?"

Hermione tried to think a moment and shook her head. "It's all fuzzy now. I just remember waking up at St. Mungo's. That's it."

"Well we can't spend our resources trying to track it down right now. There haven't been any more murders and my team thinks this thing is no longer even here. Perhaps it got what it wanted. Either way, we're strained at the moment. The Order has been working non-stop to stop these attacks. We have to concentrate on Voldemort," Draco announced and Harry nodded.

"He's right."

Hermione watched them a moment and then nodded reluctantly. There was a small part of her that knew that the entity was still out there. And it was planning something. Something—_major_.

000000


	13. Chapter 13

OoOoOoOoOo

It was time. It smiled and stretched luxuriously upon its fine, four poster bed, sighing languidly as its skin was met with silk and linen. It looked over at its last meal. It had been a Death Eater, it couldn't remember his name. It thought a moment—Ah, yes—Thompkins. Yes, Thompkins had been quite a tasty little morsel. It smirked and hopped out of bed. It quickly summoned its helpers, a few of the pureblood wives that Voldemort had bespelled, and bid them to bathe and dress her.

They pulled a set of soft, snug, robes made of leather, the markings of her homeland and station began to etch themselves onto the fabric and the wives stood back, fear and amazement washing over them. A scepter appeared in its hand, and the crown it customarily wore appeared as well and began weaving and entangling itself in its bountiful locks.

"Bellatrix," it called and the woman came from the shadows, her body trembling with fear. It inhaled the scent of it a moment and sighed. For someone so dark and tainted, her pet had never seeing her feed. The thought of Bellatrix, one who had done so many foul things, being aghast at what it does naturally amused it immensely. _Silly humans_, it thought.

"It is time. Do you have what I asked for?,"

Bellatrix nodded enthusiastically. "Yes master. Here is the artefact. Just as you asked."

The Sun Pearl glowed in its hand and an expression of glee crossed its face. Some landlocked wizard back in the 12th century had brought this to the wizarding world, unaware of its true power. It had sat, neglected in some wizarding museum showcase, gathering dust and dirt before it had searched exhaustively before finally sensing the pearl's power. Luckily, with all the recent attacks, it was sure no one would truly miss it. The Aurors had their hands full and they wouldn't stop to investigate a missing museum piece. Even if it was nearly priceless. The pearl's mate was nestled darkly in its chest. It felt ripples of excitement as it held the luminescent pearl closer, its own dark seed wriggling in delight as it engulfed the ancient object.

The light was nearly too bright for the humans in the chamber and they shielded their eyes, and just as quickly, the light began fading, softly becoming a pulsing amber glow lighting its face and body before finally dispersing into darkness. It had managed to gather all the aspects of its essence that was needed; the _Ba_, the _Ka_, and even its _Ren_ was now securely locked within the body of the pearl.

It felt—invincible. And for all intents and purposes, it was.

Its laughter filled the room and tickled the humans with its darkness. The pureblood wives slipped away and Bellatrix made use of herself in a corner, hidden by the shadows.

_Yes, scurry humans_, it thought. _For my rule will be cruel, and it will be absolute_.

OoOoOoOoOo

It strolled in, its pace regal and queenly. Most of the Death Eaters were unaware of its existence and merely stared as it progressed across the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Voldemort bellowed and it giggled.

"Why Voldie. Is that how you greet an old friend?"

"I tire of you, _thing_."

Many of those in attendance looked from Voldemort to the woman who dared openly defy their Dark Lord. Many of them wondered who was she? Why is the Dark Lord not offing her? He had killed others for less.

"No darling. I tire of _you_. Your special brand of magic is just what I needed to fully regain my power. Now that I have it, I no longer need you."

Voldemort hissed in anger and raised his wand. Before he could unleash a curse, she was in front of him, clutching his throat in one hand. She pulled him off the ground and laughed.

"This is who you praise?," she asked the audience of Death Eaters and sympathizers and many of them backed away, shocked that their Dark Lord had been taken so easily by some—some _woman_!

"And you call yourselves _Death Eaters_. You all know nothing of death. You are like children. You pretend."

She dropped Voldemort onto the floor and began approaching the crowd.

"He is no longer your Lord. He has misled you with his grandiose mutterings of blood purity and dark magicks. Though I am cruel, I will show mercy and give you a chance to submit to my rule. That—or die."

Voldemort fired off a dark, dark curse, one that many watching had never heard of or seen performed. He smiled and lifted himself from the ground when she seemed stunned.

"I beg to differ my dear. I _am_ their Lord."

She was bound by a multitude of dark ropy entanglements. They seemed to slither like snakes across her skin, sending boiling blood to the floor. Voldemort laughed in triumph and then the ropes began to be pulled into her. Their dark mass squirmed and wiggled into her mouth and eyes like a drink with a straw.

Her wounds healed themselves and she moaned. "Mmmm….what-_delicious_ magic you have Voldemort. That particular spell was spectacularly dark. And it tickled too."

She grinned and began to stalk him across the floor. Spells, curses and jinxes hardly stopping her and she reached him finally. She reached out and stroked his cheek gently, almost lovingly.

"What did you see on the other side? When you died, the first time?," she asked curiously and Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and remained silent.

She licked his cheeked and sniffed. "Mmmm…did you see all that you had hoped to acquire in this life or did you see only darkness, only the pain and suffering of your foul heart and that of those you have—taken?"

He stiffened and she buried her face in his neck, her now exposed fangs and sharp teeth nipping him as she nuzzled him.

"Poor dear, running so hard to avoid fate. No one can cheat death. All living things must cross beyond the veil. Your time has come. Accept it."

She moved away and Voldemort quickly lifted his wand seeking to throw a final, desperate curse.

He almost thought he would succeed. But a searing pain in his chest stopped his approach and he looked down.

Her hand was buried in his chest. Blood and gore dripped down the front of his robe and spilled onto the floor, and the area around him was marked with scarlet. He gasped and tried to breathe. One ragged gasp escaped his lips as she _pulled_.

His eyes widened as he watched his beating heart sit upon her delicate hand. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, his only focus was on the nearly inaudible _lub-dub_ of the chambers and they tried to pump blood that was no longer there.

Her face morphed and the crowd stepped back, retreating to the furthest parts of the room.

"Such a dark, dark heart," it said, its voice sounding distorted and monstrous as it dipped down, its teeth slicing cleanly into Voldemort's heart.

It instantly turned to dust and Voldemort stood, still frozen, a silent scream marked on his face as he withered quickly away to nothing more than dust flying about on the air currents.

It wiped its face delicately on a silk handkerchief and observed the people cowering before it. There was absolute silence as the death eaters began to realize that their Dark Lord was truly, finally dead.

She looked up and paced, and slowly allowed her true face to seep into her beautiful features. She reveled in the looks of terror and fear she caught from around the room.

She drew herself up, smiled and then said, "Boo."

It was as if she had fired off a signal. People began surging towards the exits and trying desperately to get away.

It cackled loudly. Humans were so damned predictable! Oh it was all going to be so lovely.

She then grabbed the first man she saw and began to feast.

HGHGHGHGH

* * *

**A/N**: So sorry for the delay. School and life impedes. I appreciate anyone who is reading this, and feel free to give a review. I love constructive criticism and praise equally.

Oh and if you were wondering, the Ba, Ka and Ren are the part that ancient Egyptians thought made up the soul. Ba is the personality, Ka is the physical part or the body of a person, and Ren is a person's name.


End file.
